<4- 


Red   Pottage 


By 

Mary  Cholmondeley 

AUTHOR    OF 

"THE  DANVERS  JEWELS" 


" 'After  the  Red  Pottage  comes  the  exceeding  fritiet   cry  ' 


NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

HARPER    £    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1899 


Copyright,  1899,  by  HABPKB  &  BBOTHKRS. 

All  right*  reterved. 


ro 
VICTORIA 

Good  things  have  not  kept  aloof, 

***** 
I  have  not  lack'd  thy  mild  reproof, 
Nor  golden  largesse  of  thy  praise. 


839598 


KED  POTTAGE 


CHAPTER  I 

In  tragic  life,  God  wot, 

No  villain  need  be  !    Passions  spin  the  plot : 
We  are  betrayed  by  what  is  false  within. 

— GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

"  I  CAN'T  get  out,"  said  Swift's  starling,  looking  through 
the  bars  of  his  cage. 

"  I  will  get  out,"  said  Hugh  Scarlett  to  himself,  seeing 
no  bars,  but  half  conscious  of  a  cage.  "  I  will  get  out," 
he  repeated,  as  his  hansom  took  him  swiftly  from  the 
house  in  Portman  Square,  where  he  had  been  dining, 
towards  that  other  house  in  Carlton  House  Terrace, 
whither  his  thoughts  had  travelled  on  before  him,  out-dis- 
tancing the  trip -clip-clop,  trip-clip-clop  of  the  horse. 

It  was  a  hot  night  in  June.  Hugh  had  thrown  back  his 
overcoat,  and  the  throng  of  passers-by  in  the  street  could 
see,  if  they  cared  to  see,  "  the  glass  of  fashion "  in  the 
shape  of  white  waistcoat  and  shirt  front,  surmounted  by 
the  handsome,  irritated  face  of  their  owner,  leaning  back 
with  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes. 

Trip-clip-clop  went  the  horse. 

A  great  deal  of  thinking  may  be  compressed  into  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  especially  if  it  has  been  long  eluded. 

"I  will  get  out," he  said  again  to  himself  with  an  im- 
patient movement.  It  was  beginning  to  weary  him,  this 
commonplace  intrigue  which  had  been  so  new  and  allur- 
A.  1 


RED    POTTAGE 

ing  n  year  ago.  Ho  did  not  own  it  to  himself,  but  he 
:«!  <  i'  &  IVrhaps  the  reason  why  good  resolutions 
!.;iu  *  ariuMl  i\,r  themselves  such  an  evil  repute  as  paving- 
stones  is  because  they  are  often  the  result,  not  of  repent- 
ance, but  of  the  restlessness  that  dogs  an  evaporating  pleas- 
ure. This  liaison  had  been  alternately  his  pride  and  his 
shame  for  many  months.  But  now  it  was  becoming 
something  more  —  which  it  had  been  all  the  time,  only 
he  had  not  noticed  it  till  lately — a  fetter,  a  clog,  some- 
thing irksome,  to  be  cast  off  and  pushed  out  of  sight. 
Decidedly  the  moment  for  the  good  resolution  had  ar- 
rived. 

"I  will  break  it  off/'  he  said  again.  "  Thank  Heaven, 
not  a  soul  has  ever  guessed  it." 

How  could  any  one  have  guessed  it  ? 

He  remembered  the  day  when  he  had  first  met  her  a 
year  ago,  and  had  looked  upon  her  as  merely  a  pretty 
woman.  He  remembered  other  days,  and  the  gradual 
building  up  between  them  of  a  fairy  palace.  He  had  added 
a  stone  here,  she  a  stone  there,  until  suddenly  it  became — a 
prison.  Had  he  been  tempter  or  tempted  ?  He  did  not 
know.  He  did  not  care.  He  wanted  only  to  be  out  of  it. 
His  better  feelings  and  his  conscience  had  been  awakened 
by  the  first  touch  of  weariness.  His  brief  infatuation  had 
run  its  course.  His  judgment  had  been  whirled — he  told 
himself  it  had  been  whirled,  but  it  had  really  only  been 
tweaked — from  its  centre,  had  performed  its  giddy  orbit, 
and  now  the  check-string  had  brought  it  back  to  the  point 
from  whence  it  had  set  out,  namely,  that  she  was  merely 
a  pretty  woman. 

"I  will  break  with  her  gradually,"  he  said,  like  the 
tyro  he  was,  and  he  pictured  to  himself  the  wretched 
scenes  in  which  she  would  abuse  him,  reproach  him,  prob- 
ably compromise  herself,  the  letters  she  would  write  to 
him.  At  any  rate,  he  need  not  read  them.  Oh  !  how  tired 
he  was  of  the  whole  thing  beforehand.  Why  had  he  been 
such  a  fool  ?  He  looked  at  the  termination  of  the  liaison 
as  a  bad  sailor  looks  at  an  inevitable  sea  passage  at  the 

2 


RED    POTTAGE 

end  of  a  journey.     It  must  be  gone  through,  but  the 
prospect  of  undergoing  it  filled  him  with  disgust. 

A  brougham  passed  him  swiftly  on  noiseless  wheels,  and 
the  woman  in  it  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  high-bred,  clean- 
shaven face,  half  savage,  half  sullen,  in  the  hansom. 

"  Anger,  impatience,  and  remorse,"  she  said  to  herself, 
and  finished  buttoning  her  gloves. 

"Thank  Heaven,  not  a  soul  has  ever  guessed  it,"  re- 
peated Hugh,  fervently,  as  the  hansom  came  suddenly  to 
a  stand-still. 

In  another  moment  he  was  taking  Lady  Newhaven's 
hand  as  she  stood  at  the  entrance  of  her  amber  drawing- 
room  beside  a  grove  of  pink  orchids. 

He  chatted  a  moment,  greeted  Lord  Newhaven,  and 
passed  on  into  the  crowded  rooms.  How  could  any  one 
have  guessed  it  ?  No  breath  of  scandal  had  ever  touched 
Lady  Newhaven.  She  stood  beside  her  pink  orchids, 
near  her  fatigued-looking,  gentle-mannered  husband,  a 
very  pretty  woman  in  w.hite  satin  and  diamonds.  Perhaps 
her  blond  hair  was  a  shade  darker  at  the  roots  than  in 
its  waved  coils ;  perhaps  her  blue  eyes  did  not  look  quite 
in  harmony  with  their  blue-black  lashes;  but  the  whole 
effect  had  the  delicate,  conventional  perfection  of  a  clever- 
ly touched-up  chromo-lithograph.  Of  course,  tastes  differ. 
Some  people  like  chromo-lithographs,  others  don't.  But 
even  those  who  do  are  apt  to  become  estranged.  They 
may  inspire  love,  admiration,  but  never  fidelity.  Most  of 
us  have  in  our  time  hammered  nails  into  our  walls  which, 
though  they  now  decorously  support  the  engravings  and 
etchings  of  our  maturer  years,  were  nevertheless  originally 
driven  in  to  uphold  the  cherished,  the  long  since  discarded 
chromos  of  our  foolish  youth. 

The  diamond  sun  upon  Lady  Newhaven's  breast  quiv- 
ered a  little,  a  very  little,  as  Hugh  greeted  her,  and  she 
turned  to  offer  the  same  small  smile  and  gloved  hand  to 
the  next  comer,  whose  name  was  leaping  before  him  from 
one  footman  to  another. 

"  Mr,  Richard  Vernon." 

3 


RED    POTTAGE 

Lady  Newhaven's  wide  blue  eyes  looked  vague.  Her 
hand  hesitated.  This  strongly  built,  ill-dressed  man,  with 
his  keen,  brown,  deeply  scarred  face  and  crooked  mouth, 
was  unknown  to  her. 

Lord  Newhaven  darted  forward. 

"  Dick  I"  he  exclaimed,  and  Dick  shot  forth  an  immense 
mahogany  hand  and  shook  Lord  Newhaven's  warmly. 

"  Well/'  he  said,  after  Lord  Newhaven  had  introduced 
him  to  his  wife,  "  I'm  dashed  if  I  knew  who  either  of  you 
were.  But  I  found  your  invitation  at  my  club  when  I 
landed  yesterday,  so  I  decided  to  come  and  have  a  look 
at  you.  And  so  it  is  only  you,  Cackles,  after  all " — (Lord 
Newhaven's  habit  of  silence  had  earned  for  him  the  sobri- 
quet of  "Cackles") — "I  quite  thought  I  was  going  into — 
well,  ahem  ! — into  society.  I  did  not  know  you  had  got 
a  handle  to  your  name.  How  did  you  find  out  I  was  in 
England  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  didn't,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  gently 
drawing  Dick  aside,  whose  back  was  serenely  blocking  a 
stream  of  new  arrivals.  "  I  fancy — in  fact,  I'm  simply 
delighted  to  see  you.  How  is  the  wine  getting  on  ?  But 
I  suppose  there  must  be -other  Dick  Vernons  on  my  wife's 
list.  Have  you  the  card  with  you  ?" 

"Rather,"  said  Dick;  "always  take  the  card  with  me 
since  I  was  kicked  out  of  a  miner's  hop  at  Broken  Hill 
because  I  forgot  it.  '  No  gentleman  will  be  admitted  in 
a  paper  shirt '  was  mentioned  on  it,  I  remember.  A  con- 
certina, and  candles  in  bottles.  Ripping  while  it  lasted. 
I  wish  you  had  been  there." 

"I  wish  I  had."  Lord  Newhaven's  tired,  half-closed 
eyes  opened  a  little.  "  But  the  end  seems  to  have  been 
unfortunate." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Dick,  watching  the  new  arrivals  with 
his  head  thrown  back.  "Fine  girl  that;  Fll  take  a  look 
at  the  whole  mob  of  them  directly.  They  came  round 
next  day  to  say  it  had  been  a  mistake,  but  there  were  four 
or  five  cripples  who  found  that  out  the  night  before. 
Here  is  the  card." 

4 


RED    POTTAGE 

Lord  Newhaven  glanced  at  it  attentively,  and  then 
laughed. 

"  It  is  four  years  old,"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  have  put  you 
on  my  mother's  list,  not  knowing  you  had  left  London. 
It  is  in  her  writing." 

"I'm  rather  late/'  said  Dick,  composedly;  "but  I  am 
here  at  last.  Now,  Cack — Newhaven,  if  that's  your  noble 
name — as  I  am  here,  trot  out  a  few  heiresses,  won't  you? 
I  want  to  take  one  or  two  back  with  me.  I  say,  ought  I 
to  put  my  gloves  on  ?" 

"No,  no.  Clutch  them  in  your  great  fist  as  you  are 
doing  now." 

"Thanks.  I  suppose,  old  chap,  Fm  all  right?  Not 
had  on  an  evening-coat  for  four  years." 

Dick's  trousers  were  too  short  for  him,  and  he  had 
tied  his  white  tie  with  a  waist  to  it.  Lord  Newhaven  had 
seen  both  details  before  he  recognized  him. 

"  Quite  right,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  Now,  who  is  to  be 
the  happy  woman  ?" 

Dick's  hawk  eye  promenaded  over  the  crowd  in  the 
second  room,  in  the  door-way  of  which  he  was  standing. 

"That  one,"  he  said;  "the  tall  girl  in  the  green  gown 
talking  to  the  Bishop." 

"You  have  a  wonderful  eye  for  heiresses.  You  have 
picked  out  the  greatest  in  London.  That  is  Miss  Eachel 
West.  You  say  you  want  two." 

"  One  at  a  time,  thanks.  I  shall  take  her  down  to  sup- 
per. I  suppose — er — there  is  supper  at  this  sort  of  thing, 
isn't  there?" 

"Of  a  kind.  You  must  not  be  afraid  of  the  claret ;  it 
isn't  yours." 

"  Catch  you  giving  your  best  at  a  crush,"  retorted  Dick. 
"  The  Bishop's  moving.  Hurry  up." 


CHAPTER  II 

But  as  he  groped  against  the  wall,  two  hands  upon  him  fell, 
The  King  behind  his  shoulder  spake:  "Dead  man,  thou  dost  not 
well."  — RODYARD  KIPLING. 

HUGH  had  gone  through  the  first  room,  and,  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  found  himself  in  the  door-way  of  the 
second.  He  had  arrived  late,  and  the  rooms  were  already 
thinning. 

A  woman  in  a  pale  -  green  gown  was  standing  near 
the  open  window,  her  white  profile  outlined  against  the 
framed  darkness,  as  she  listened  with  evident  amusement 
to  the  tall,  ill-dressed  man  beside  her. 

Hugh's  eyes  lost  the  veiled  scorn  with  which  it  was  their 
wont  to  look  at  society  and  the  indulgent  patronage  which 
lurked  in  them  for  pretty  women. 

Rachel  West  slowly  turned  her  face  towards  him  without 
seeing  him,  and  his  heart  leaped.  She  was  not  beautiful 
except  with  the  beauty  of  health,  and  a  certain  dignity 
of  carriage  which  is  the  outcome  of  a  head  and  hands  and 
body  that  are  at  unity  with  each  other,  and  with  a  mind 
absolutely  unconscious  of  self.  She  had  not  the  long 
nose  which  so  frequently  usurps  more  than  its  share  of 
the  faces  of  the  well-bred,  nor  had  she,  alas !  the  short 
upper  lip  which  redeems  everything.  Her  features  were 
as  insignificant  as  her  coloring.  People  rarely  noticed 
that  Rachel's  hair  was  brown,  and  that  her  deep-set  eyes 
were  gray.  But  upon  her  grave  face  the  word  "Helper" 
was  plainly  written — and  something  else.  What  was  it  ? 

Just  as  in  the  faces  of  seamen  we  trace  the  onslaught 
of  storm  and  sun  and  brine,  and  the  puckering  of  the  skin 
round  the  eyes  that  comes  of  long  watching  in  half-lights, 


RED    POTTAGE 

so  in  some  faces,  calm  and  pure  as  Rachel's,  on  which  the 
sun  and  rain  have  never  beaten,  there  is  an  expression 
betokening  strong  resistance  from  within  of  the  brunt  of 
a  whirlwind  from  without.  The  marks  of  conflict  and 
endurance  on  a  young  face — who  shall  see  them  unmoved ! 
The  Mother  of  Jesus  must  have  noticed  a  great  difference 
in  her  Son  when  she  first  saw  Him  again  after  the  temp- 
tation in  the  wilderness. 

Rachel's  grave,  amused  glance  fell  upon  Hugh.  Their 
eyes  met,  and  he  instantly  perceived,  to  his  astonishment, 
that  she  recognized  him.  But  she  did  not  bow,  and  a 
moment  later  left  the  nearly  empty  rooms  with  the  man 
who  was  talking  to  her. 

Hugh  was  excited  out  of  recognition  of  his  former 
half-scornful,  half -blase  self.  That  woman  must  be  his 
wife.  She  would  save  him  from  himself,  this  cynical, 
restless  self,  which  never  remained  in  one  stay.  The  half- 
acknowledged  weakness  in  her  nature  unconsciously  flung 
itself  upon  his  strength,  a  strength  which  had  been  tried. 
She  would  love  him,  and  uphold  him.  There  would  be 
no  more  yielding  to  circumstances  if  that  pure,  strong 
soul  were  close  beside  him.  He  would  lean  upon  her,  and 
the  ugly  by-paths  of  these  last  years  would  know  him  no 
more.  Her  presence  would  leaven  his  whole  life.  In  the 
momentary  insanity,  which  was  perhaps,  after  all,  only  a 
prophetic  intuition,  he  had  no  fears,  no  misgivings.  He 
thought  that  with  that  face  it  was  not  possible  that  she 
could  be  so  wicked  as  to  refuse  him. 

"  She  will  marry  me,"  he  said  to  himself.     "  She  must." 

Lady  Newhaven  touched  him  gently  on  the  arm. 

"  I  dared  not  speak  to  you  before,"  she  said.  "  Nearly 
every  one  has  gone.  Will  you  take  me  down  to  supper  ? 
I  am  tired  out." 

He  stared  at  her,  not  recognizing  her. 

"  Have  I  vexed  you?"  she  faltered. 

And  with  a  sudden  horrible  revulsion  of  feeling  he 
remembered.  The  poor  chromo  had  fallen  violently  from 
its  nail.  But  the  nail  remained — ready.  He  took  her 

7 


RED    POTTAGE 

into  the  supper-room  and  got  her  a  glass  of  champagne. 
She  subsided  on  to  a  sofa  beside  another  woman,  vaguely 
suspecting  trouble  in  the  air.  He  felt  thankful  that 
Rachel  had  already  gone.  Dick,  nearly  the  last,  was  put- 
ting on  his  coat,  arranging  to  meet  Lord  Newhaven  the 
following  morning  at  his  club.  They  had  been  in  Aus- 
tralia together,  and  were  evidently  old  friends. 

Lord  Newhaven's  listless  manner  returned  as  Dick 
marched  out.  Hugh  had  got  one  arm  in  his  coat.  An 
instinct  of  flight  possessed  him,  a  vague  horror  of  the 
woman  in  diamonds  furtively  watching  him  under  her 
lowered  eyelids  through  the  open  door. 

"  Oh,  Scarlett  I"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  detaining  him 
languidly,  "  I  want  three  minutes  of  your  valuable  time. 
Come  into  my  study." 

"  Another  cross-bow  for  Westhope  Abbey?"  said  Hugh, 
trying  to  speak  unconcernedly,  as  he  followed  his  host  to 
a  back  room  on  the  ground  floor.  Lord  Newhaven  was 
collecting  arms  for  the  hall  of  his  country-house. 

"  No ;  much  simpler  than  those  elaborate  machines," 
said  the  older  man,  turning  on  the  electric  light.  Hugh 
went  in,  and  Lord  Newhaven  closed  the  door. 

Over  the  mantel-shelf  were  hung  a  few  old  Japanese 
inlaid  carbines,  and  beneath  them  an  array  of  pistols. 

(e  Useless  now,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  touching  them 
affectionately.  "  But,"  he  added,  with  a  shade  more 
listlessness  than  before,  "Society  has  become  accustomed 
to  do  without  them,  and  does  ill  without  them,  but  we 
must  conform  to  her."  Hugh  started  slightly,  and  then 
remained  motionless.  "  You  observe  these  two  paper  light- 
ers, Scarlett  ?  One  is  an  inch  shorter  than  the  other. 
They  have  been  waiting  on  the  mantel-shelf  for  the  last 
month,  till  I  had  an  opportunity  of  drawing  your  atten- 
tion to  them.  I  am  sure  we  perfectly  understand  each  oth- 
er. No  name  need  be  mentioned.  All  scandal  is  avoided. 
I  feel  confident  you  will  not  hesitate  to  make  me  the  only 
reparation  one  man  can  make  another  in  the  somewhat 
hackneyed  circumstances  in  which  we  find  ourselves." 

8 


RED    POTTAGE 

Lord  Newhaven  took  the  lighters  out  of  the  glass.  He 
glanced  suddenly  at  Hugh's  stunned  face,  and  went  on  : 

"I  am  sorry  the  idea  is  not  my  own.  I  read  of  it  in 
a  magazine.  Though  comparatively  modern,  it  promises 
soon  to  become  as  customary  as  the  much-to-be-regretted 
pistols  for  two  and  coffee  for  four.  I  hold  the  lighters 
thus,  and  you  draw.  Whoever  draws  or  keeps  the  short 
one  is  pledged  to  leave  this  world  within  four  months,  or 
shall  we  say  five,  on  account  of  the  pheasant  shooting  ? 
Five  be  it.  Is  it  agreed  ?  Just  so  !  Will  you  draw  ?" 

A  swift  spasm  passed  over  Hugh's  face,  and  a  tiger  glint 
leaped  into  Lord  Newhaven's  eyes,  fixed  intently  upon  him. 

There  was  a  brief  second  in  which  Hugh's  mind  wavered, 
as  the  flame  of  a  candle  wavers  in  a  sudden  draught.  Lord 
Newhaven's  eyes  glittered.  He  advanced  the  lighters  an 
inch  nearer. 

If  he  had  not  advanced  them  that  inch  Hugh  thought 
afterwards  that  he  would  have  refused  to  draw. 

He  backed  against  the  mantel-piece,  and  then  put  out 
his  hand  suddenly  and  drew.  It  seemed  the  only  way  of 
escape. 

The  two  men  measured  the  lighters  on  the  table  under 
the  electric  light. 

Lord  Newhaven  laughed. 

Hugh  stood  a  moment,  and  then  went  out. 


CHAPTER   III 

"Is  it  well  with  thee?    Is  it  well  with  thy  husband?" 

WHEN  Lady  Newhaven  slipped  out  of  the  supper-room 
after  her  husband  and  Hugh,  and  lingered  at  the  door  of 
t  lu1  study,  she  did  not  follow  them  with  the  deliberate  in- 
tention of  eavesdropping,  but  from  a  vague  impulse  of 
suspicious  anxiety.  Yet  she  crouched  in  her  white  satin 
gown  against  the  door  listening  intently. 

Neither  man  moved  within,  only  one  spoke.  There  was 
no  other  sound  to  deaden  her  husband's  distinct,  low  voice. 
The  silence  that  followed  his  last  words,  "Will  you  draw  ?'' 
was  broken  by  his  laugh,  and  she  had  barely  time  to  throw 
herself  back  from  the  door  into  a  dark  recess  under  the 
staircase  before  Hugh  came  out.  He  almost  touched  her 
as  he  passed.  He  must  have  seen  her,  if  he  had  been  ca- 
pable of  seeing  anything  ;  but  he  went  straight  on  unheed- 
ing. And  as  she  stole  a  few  steps  to  gaze  after  him,  she 
saw  him  cross  the  hall  and  go  out  into  the  night  with- 
out his  hat  and  coat,  the  amazed  servants  staring  after 
him. 

She  drew  back  to  go  up -stairs,  and  met  her  husband 
coming  slowly  out  of  the  study.  He  looked  steadily  at 
her,  as  she  clung  trembling  to  the  banisters.  There  was 
no  alteration  in  his  glance,  and  she  suddenly  perceived 
that  what  he  knew  now  he  had  always  known.  She  put 
her  hand  to  her  head. 

' '  You  look  tired,"  he  said,  in  the  level  voice  to  which 
she  was  accustomed.  "  You  had  better  go  to  bed." 

She  stumbled  swiftly  up-stairs,  catching  at  the  banisters, 
and  went  into  her  own  room. 

Her  maid  was  waiting  for  her  by  the  dressing-table  with 

10 


RED    POTTAGE 

its  shaded  electric  lights.  And  she  remembered  that  she 
had  given  a  party,  and  that  she  had  on  her  diamonds. 

It  would  take  a  long  time  to  unfasten  them.  She  pulled 
at  the  diamond  sun  on  her  breast  with  a  shaking  hand. 
Her  husband  had  given  it  to  her  when  her  eldest  son  was 
born.  Her  maid  took  the  tiara  gently  out  of  her  hair,  and 
cut  the  threads  that  sewed  the  diamonds  on  her  breast  and 
shoulders.  Would  it  never  end  ?  The  lace  of  her  gown, 
cautiously  withdrawn  through  its  hundred  eyelet-holes, 
knotted  itself. 

"Cut  it,"  she  said,  impatiently.     "  Cut  it." 

At  last  she  was  in  her  dressing-gown  and  alone.  She 
flung  herself  face  downwards  on  the  sofa.  Her  attitude 
had  the  touch  of  artificiality  which  was  natural  to  her. 

The  Deluge  had  arrived,  and  unconsciously  she  met  it, 
as  she  would  have  made  a  heroine  meet  it  had  she  been  a 
novelist,  in  a  white  dressing-gown  and  pink  ribbons  in  a 
stereotyped  attitude  of  despair  on  a  divan. 

Conscience  is  supposed  to  make  cowards  of  us  all,  but  it 
is  a  matter  of  common  experience  that  the  unimaginative 
are  made  cowards  of  only  by  being  found  out. 

Had  David  qualms  of  conscience  when  Uriah  fell  before 
the  besieged  city  ?  Surely  if  he  had  he  would  have  winced 
at  the  obvious  parallel  of  the  prophet's  story  about  the  ewe 
lamb.  But  apparently  he  remained  serenely  obtuse  till  the 
indignant  author's  "  Thou  art  the  man"  unexpectedly 
nailed  him  to  the  cross  of  his  sin. 

And  so  it  was  with  Lady  Newhaven.  She  had  gone 
through  the  twenty -seven  years  of  her  life  believing  her- 
self to  be  a  religious  and  virtuous  person.  She  was  so  ac- 
customed to  the  idea  that  it  had  become  a  habit,  and  now 
the  whole  of  her  self-respect  was  in  one  wrench  torn  from 
her.  The  events  of  the  last  year  had  not  worn  it  down  to 
its  last  shred,  had  not  even  worn  the  nap  off.  It  was 
dragged  from  her  intact,  and  the  shock  left  her  faint  and 
shuddering. 

The  thought  that  her  husband  knew,  and  had  thought 
fit  to  conceal  his  knowledge,  had  never  entered  her  mind, 

11 


RED    POTTAGE 

any  more  than  the  probability  that  she  had  been  seen  by 
some  of  the  servants  kneeling  listening  at  a  keyhole.  The 
mistake  which  all  unobservant  people  make  is  to  assume 
that  others  are  as  unobservant  as  themselves. 

By  what  frightful  accident,  she  asked  herself,  had  this 
catastrophe  come  about?  She  thought  of  all  the  obvious 
incidents  which  would  have  revealed  the  secret  to  herself — 
the  dropped  letter,  the  altered  countenance,  the  badly  ar- 
ranged lie.  No.  She  was  convinced  her  secret  had  been 
guarded  with  minute,  with  scrupulous  care.  The  only 
thing  she  had  forgotten  in  her  calculations  waTs  her  hus- 
band's character,  if,  indeed,  she  could  be  said  to  have  for- 
gotten that  which  she  had  never  known. 

Lord  Newhaven  was  in  his  wife's  eyes  a  very  quiet  man 
of  few  words.  That  his  few  words  did  not  represent  the 
whole  of  him  had  never  occurred  to  her.  She  had  often 
told  her  friends  that  he  walked  through  life  with  his  eyes 
shut.  He  had  a  trick  of  half  shutting  his  eyes  which  con- 
firmed her  in  this  opinion.  When  she  came  across  persons 
who  were  after  a  time  discovered  to  have  affections  and  in- 
terests of  which  they  had  not  spoken,  she  described  them 
as  "cunning."  She  had  never  thought  Edward  "cun- 
ning" till  to-night.  How  had  he,  of  all  men,  discovered 
this — this — ?  She  had  no  words  ready  to  call  her  conduct 
by,  though  words  would  not  have  failed  her  had  she  been 
denouncing  the  same  conduct  in  another  wife  and  mother. 

Gradually  "the  whole  horror  of  her  situation" — to  bor- 
row from  her  own  vocabulary— forced  itself  upon  her  mind 
like  damp  through  a  gay  wall-paper.  What  did  it  matter 
how  the  discovery  had  been  made !  It  was  made,  and 
she  was  ruined.  She  repeated  the  words  between  little 
gasps  for  breath.  Ruined  !  Her  reputation  lost !  Hers— 
Violet  Newhaven's.  It  was  a  sheer  impossibility  that  such 
a  thing  could  have  happened  to  a  woman  like  her.  It  was 
some  vile  slander  which  Edward  must  see  to.  He  was 
good  at  that  sort  of  thing.  But  no,  Edward  would  not 
help  her.  She  had  committed—  She  flung  out  her 
hands,  panic-stricken,  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  The  deed 

12 


RED    POTTAGE 

had  brought  with  it  no  shame,  but  the  word — the  word 
wounded  her  like  a  sword. 

Her  feeble  mind,  momentarily  stunned,  pursued  its 
groping  way. 

He  would  divorce  her.  It  would  be  in  the  papers.  But 
no.  What  was  that  he  had  said  to  Hugh — "No  names  to 
be  mentioned  ;  all  scandal  avoided." 

She  shivered  and  drew  in  her  breath.  It  was  to  be 
settled  some  other  way.  Her  mind  became  an  entire 
blank.  Another  way  !  What  way  ?  She  remembered 
now,  and  an  inarticulate  cry  broke  from  her.  They  had 
drawn  lots. 

Who  had  drawn  the  short  lighter  9 

Her  husband  had  laughed.  But  then  he  laughed  at 
everything.  He  was  never  really  serious,  always  shal- 
low and  heartless.  He  would  have  laughed  if  he  had 
drawn  it  himself.  Perhaps  he  had.  Yes,  he  certainly 
had  drawn  it.  But  Hugh  ?  She  saw  again  the  white,  set 
face  as  he  passed  her.  No ;  it  must  have  been  Hugh  who 
had  drawn  it — Hugh,  whom  she  loved.  She  wrung  her 
hands  and  moaned,  half  aloud  : 

"Which?    Which?" 

There  was  a  slight  movement  in  the  next  room,  the 
door  was  opened,  and  Lord  Newhaven  appeared  in  the 
door-way.  He  was  still  in  evening  dress. 

"  Did  you  call  ?"  he  said,  quietly.  "Are  you  ill  ?"  He 
came  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  and  she  sat  up  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  him.  Despair  and  suspense  were  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  no  change  in  his,  and  she  remembered  that 
she  had  never  seen  him  angry.  Perhaps  she  had  not 
known  when  he  was  angry. 

He  was  turning  away,  but  she  stopped  him.  "Wait," 
she  said,  and  he  returned,  his  cold,  attentive  eyes  upon 
her.  There  was  no  contempt,  no  indignation  in  his  bear- 
ing. If  those  feelings  had  shaken  him,  it  must  have  been 
some  time  ago.  If  they  had  been  met  and  vanquished  in 
secret,  that  also  must  have  been  some  time  ago.  He  took 

13 


RED    POTTAGE 

up  an  Imitation  of  Christ,  bound  in  the  peculiar  shade  of 
lilac  which  at  that  moment  prevailed,  and  turned  it  in 
his  hand. 

"You  are  overwrought/'  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "and  I  particularly  dislike  a  scene." 

She  did  not  heed  him. 

"I  listened  at  the  door,"  she  said,  in  a  harsh,  unnatural 
voice. 

"I  am  perfectly  aware  of  it." 

A  sort  of  horror  seemed  to  have  enveloped  the  familiar 
room.  The  very  furniture  looked  like  well-known  words 
arranged  suddenly  in  some  new  and  dreadful  meaning. 

"You  never  loved  me,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  he  looked  gravely  at  her  for  a 
moment,  and  she  was  ashamed. 

"  Why  don't  you  divorce  me  if  you  think  me  so  wicked  ?" 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  children,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
change  of  voice. 

Teddy,  the  eldest,  had  been  born  in  this  room.  Did 
either  remember  that  gray  morning  six  years  ago  ? 

There  was  a  silence  that  might  be  felt. 

"  Who  drew  the  short  lighter  ?"  she  whispered,  before 
she  knew  that  she  had  spoken. 

' '  I  am  not  here  to  answer  questions,"  he  replied.  "  And 
I  have  asked  none.  Neither,  you  will  observe,  have  I 
blamed  you.  But  I  desire  that  you  will  never  again  allude 
to  this  subject,  and  that  you  will  keep  in  mind  that  I  do 
not  intend  to  discuss  it  with  you." 

He  laid  down  the  Imitation  and  moved  towards  his 
own  room. 

With  a  sudden  movement  she  flung  herself  upon  her 
knees  before  him  and  caught  his  arm.  The  attitude 
suggested  an  amateur. 

"  Who  drew  the  short  lighter  ?"  she  gasped,  her  small 
upturned  face  white  and  convulsed. 

"You  will  know  in  five  months'  time,"  he  said.  Then 
he  extricated  himself  from  her  trembling  clasp  and  left 
the  room,  closing  the  door  quietly  behind  him. 

14 


CHAPTER  IV 

For  the  sin  ye  do  by  two  and  two  ye  must  pay  for  one  by  one  ! 

—  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 


Hugh  awoke  the  morning  after  Lady  New- 
haven's  party  the  day  was  already  far  advanced.  A  hot 
day  had  succeeded  to  a  hot  night.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
lay  like  one  emerging  from  the  influence  of  morphia,  who 
feels  his  racked  body  still  painlessly  afloat  on  a  sea  of 
rest,  but  is  conscious  that  it  is  drifting  back  to  the  bitter 
shores  of  pain,  and  who  stirs  neither  hand  nor  foot  lor 
fear  of  hastening  the  touch  of  the  encircling,  aching  sands 
on  which  he  is  so  soon  to  be  cast  in  agony  once  more. 

His  mind  cleared  a  little.  Rachel's  grave  face  stood 
out  against  a  dark  background  —  a  background  darker 
surely  than  that  of  the  summer  night.  He  remembered 
with  self  -contempt  the  extravagant  emotion  which  she 
had  aroused  in  him. 

"Absurd/'  Hugh  said  to  himself,  with  the  distrust  of 
all  sudden  springs  of  pure  emotion  which  those  who  have 
misused  them  rarely  escape.  And  then  another  remem- 
brance, which  only  a  sleeping-draught  had  kept  at  bay, 
darted  upon  him  like  a  panther  on  its  prey. 

He  had  drawn  the  short  lighter. 

He  started  violently,  and  then  fell  back  trembling. 

"  Oh,  my  God  I"  he  said,  involuntarily. 

He  lay  still,  telling  himself  that  this  dreadful  night- 
mare would  pass,  would  fade  in  the  light  of  common  day. 

His  servant  came  in  noiselessly  with  a  cup  of  coffee  and 
a  little  sheaf  of  letters. 

He  pretended  to  be  asleep  ;  but  when  the  man  had  gone 
he  put  out  his  shaking  hand  for  the  coffee  and  drank  it. 

15 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  mist  before  his  mind  gradually  lifted.  Gradually, 
too,  the  horror  on  his  face  whitened  to  despair,  as  a 
twilight  meadow  whitens  beneath  the  evening  frost.  He 
had  drawn  the  short  lighter.  Nothing  in  heaven  or  earth 
could  alter  that  fact. 

He  did  not  stop  to  wonder  how  Lord  Newhaven  had 
become  aware  of  his  own  dishonor,  or  at  the  strange 
weapon  with  which  he  had  avenged  himself.  He  went 
over  every  detail  of  his  encounter  with  him  in  the  study. 
His  hand  had  been  forced.  He  had  been  thrust  into  a 
vile  position.  He  ought  to  have  refused  to  draw.  He 
did  not  agree  to  draw.  Nevertheless,  he  had  drawn. 
And  Hugh  knew  that,  if  it  had  to  be  done  again,  he 
should  again  have  been  compelled  to  draw  by  the  iron 
will  before  which  his  own  was  as  straw.  He  could  not 
have  met  the  scorn  of  those  terrible  half-closed  eyes  if  he 
had  refused. 

"  There  was  no  help  for  it,"  said  Hugh,  half  aloud.  And 
yet  to  die  by  his  own  hand  within  five  months  !  It  was 
incredible.  It  was  preposterous. 

"I  never  agreed  to  it,"  he  said,  passionately. 

Nevertheless,  he  had  drawn.  The  remembrance  ever  re- 
turned to  lay  its  cold  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  with  it 
came  the  grim  conviction  that  if  Lord  Newhaven  had 
drawn  the  short  lighter  he  would  have  carried  out  the 
agreement  to  the  letter.  Whether  it  was  extravagant, 
unchristian,  whatever  might  have  been  truly  said  of  that 
unholy  compact,  Lord  Newhaven  would  have  stood  by  it. 

"I  suppose  I  must  stand  by  it,  too,"  said  Hugh  to  him- 
self, the  cold  sweat  breaking  out  on  his  forehead.  "I 
suppose  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  stand  by  it,  too." 

He  suffered  his  mind  to  regard  the  alternative. 

To  wrong  a  man  as  deeply  as  he  had  wronged  Lord 
Newhaven ;  to  tacitly  accept.  That  was  where  his  mis- 
take had  been.  Another  man,  that  mahogany-faced  fellow 
with  the  colonial  accent,  would  have  refused  to  draw,  and 
would  have  knocked  Lord  Newhaven  down  and  half  killed 
him,  or  would  have  been  knocked  down  and  half  killed  by 


RED    POTTAGE 

him.  But  to  tacitly  accept  a  means  by  winch  the  injured 
man  risked  his  life  to  avenge  his  honor,  and  then  after- 
wards to  shirk  the  fate  which  a  perfectly  even  chance 
had  thrown  upon  him  instead  of  on  his  antagonist !  It 
was  too  mean,  too  despicable.  Hugh's  pale  cheeks  burned. 

"  I  am  bound,"  he  said  slowly  to  himself  over  and  over 
again.  There  was  no  way  of  escape. 

Yesterday  evening,  with  some  intuition  of  coming  peril, 
he  had  said,  "I  will  get  out."  The  way  of  retreat  had 
been  open  behind  him.  Now,  by  one  slight  movement,  he 
was  cut  off  from  it  forever. 

"  I  can't  get  out,"  said  the  starling,  the  feathers  on  its 
breast  worn  away  with  beating  against  the  bars. 

"  I  can't  get  out,"  said  Hugh,  coming  for  the  first  time 
in  contact  with  the  bars  which  he  was  to  know  so  well — the 
bars  of  the  prison  that  he  had  made  with  his  own  hands. 

He  looked  into  the  future  with  blank  eyes.  He  had  no 
future  now.  He  stared  vacantly  in  front  of  him  like  a 
man  who  looks  through  his  window  at  the  wide  expanse 
of  meadow  and  waving  wood  and  distant  hill  which  has 
met  his  eye  every  morning  of  his  life  and  finds  it — gone. 
It  was  incredible.  He  turned  giddy.  His  reeling  mind, 
shrinking  back  from  the  abyss,  struck  against  a  fixed 
point,  and,  clutching  it,  came  violently  to  a  stand-still. 

His  mother  ! 

His  mother  was  a  widow  and  he  was  her  only  son.  If 
he  died  by  his  own  hand  it  would  break  her  heart.  Hugh 
groaned,  and  thrust  the  thought  from  him.  It  was  too 
sharp.  He  could  not  suffer  it. 

His  sin,  not  worse  than  that  of  many  another  man,  had 
found  him  out.  He  had  done  wrong.  He  admitted  it, 
but  this  monstrous  judgment  on  him  was  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  his  offence.  And,  like  some  malignant  infec- 
tious disease,  retribution  would  fall,  not  on  him  alone,  but 
on  those  nearest  him,  on  his  innocent  mother  and  sister. 
It  was  unjust,  unjust,  unjust ! 

A  very  bitter  look  came  into  his  face.  Hugh  had  never 
so  far  hated  any  one,  but  now  something  very  like  hatred 
B  17 


RED    POTTAGE 

welled  up  in  his  heart  against  Lady  Newhaven.  She  had 
lured  him  to  his  destruction.  She  had  tempted  him. 
This  was  undoubtedly, true,  though  not  probably  the  view 
which  her  guardian  angel  would  take  of  the  matter. 

Among  the  letters  which  the  servant  had  brought  him 
he  suddenly  recognized  that  the  topmost  was  in  Lady 
Newhaven's  handwriting.  Anger  and  repulsion  seized 
him.  No  doubt  it  was  the  first  of  a  series.  "  Why  was  he 
so  altered  ?  What  had  she  done  to  offend  him  ?"  etc.,  etc. 
He  knew  the  contents  beforehand,  or  thought  he  knew 
them.  lie  got  up  deliberately,  threw  the  unopened  note 
into  the  empty  fireplace,  and  put  a  match  to  it.  He 
watched  it  burn. 

It  was  his  first  overt  act  of  rebellion  against  her  yoke, 
the  first  step  along  the  nearest  of  the  many  well-worn 
paths  that  a  man  takes  at  random  to  leave  a  woman. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  Lady  Newhaven  might 
have  written  to  him  about  his  encounter  with  her  hus- 
band. He  knew  Lord  Newhaven  well  enough  to  be  abso- 
lutely certain  that  he  would  mention  the  subject  to  no 
living  creature,  least  of  all  to  his  wife. 

"Neither  will  I,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "and  as  for  her, 
I  will  break  with  her  from  this  day  forward. " 

The  little  pink  notes  with  the  dashing,  twirly  handwrit- 
ing persisted  for  a  week  or  two  and  then  ceased. 

Hugh  was  a  man  of  many  social  engagements.  His  first 
impulse,  when  later  in  the  day  he  remembered  them,  was 
to  throw  them  all  up  and  leave  London.  But  Lord  New- 
haven  would  hear  of  his  departure,  and  would  smile.  He 
decided  to  remain  and  to  go  on  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. When  the  evening  came  he  dressed  with  his  usual 
care,  verified  the  hour  of  his  engagement,  and  went  out 
to  dine  with  the  Loftuses. 


CHAPTER  V 

What  the  Bandar-log  think  now  the  jungle  will  think  later. 
— Maxim  of  the  Bandar-log,  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

IT  was  Sybell  Lof tus's  first  season  in  London  since  her 
second  marriage  with  Mr.  Doll  Lof tus.  After  a  very  brief 
sojourn  in  that  city  of  frivolity  she  had  the  acumen  to 
discern  that  London  society  was  hopelessly  worldly  and 
mercenary;  that  people  only  met  to  eat  and  to  abuse  each 
other ;  that  the  law  of  cutlet  for  cutlet  was  universal ;  that 
young  men,  especially  those  in  the  Guards,  were  garrisoned 
by  a  full  complement  of  devils  ;  that  London  girls  lived 
only  for  dress  and  the  excitement  of  husband-hunting. 
In  short,  to  use  her  own  expression,  she  "  turned  London 
society  inside  out." 

London  bore  the  process  with  equanimity,  and  presently 
Sybell  determined  to  raise  the  art  of  dinner-giving  from 
the  low  estate  to  which  she  avowed  it  had  fallen  to  a 
higher  level.  She  was  young,  she  was  pretty,  she  was 
well-born,  she  was  rich.  All  the  social  doors  were  open 
to  her.  But  one  discovery  is  often  only  the  prelude  to 
another.  She  soon  made  the  further  one  that  in  order 
to  raise  the  tone  of  social  gatherings  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  infuse  into  them  a  leaven  of  "clever  people." 
Further  light  on  this  interesting  subject  showed  her  that 
most  of  the  really  "  clever  people  "  did  not  belong  to  her 
set.  The  discovery  which  all  who  love  adulation  quickly 
make — namely,  that  the  truly  appreciative  and  sympa- 
thetic and  gifted  are  for  the  greater  part  to  be  found  in  a 
class  below  their  own — was  duly  made  and  registered  by 
Sybell.  She  avowed  that  class  differences  were  nothing 
to  her  with  the  enthusiasm  of  all  those  who  since  the 


RED    POTTAGE 

world  began  have  preferred  to  be  first  in  the  society 
which  they  gather  round  them. 

Fortunately  for  Sybell  she  was  not  troubled  by  doubts 
respecting  the  clearness  of  her  own  judgment.  Eccen- 
tricity was  in  her  eyes  originality;  a  wholesale  contradic- 
tion of  established  facts  was  a  new  view.  She  had  not  the 
horrid  perception  of  difference  between  the  real  and  the 
imitation  which  spoil  the  lives  of  many.  She  was  equally 
delighted  with  both,  and  remained  in  blissful  ignorance 
of  the  fact  that  her  "deep"  conversation  was  felt  to  be 
exhaustingly  superficial  if  by  chance  she  came  across  the 
real  artist  or  thinker  instead  of  his  counterfeit. 

Consequently  to  her  house  came  the  rate  in  all  his  most 
virulent  developments;  the  "new  woman "  with  stupen- 
dous lopsided  opinions  on  difficult  Old  Testament  subjects ; 
the  "  lady  authoress  "  with  a  mission  to  show  up  the  vices 
of  a  society  which  she  knew  only  by  hearsay.  Hither 
came,  unwittingly,  simple-minded  Church  dignitaries, 
who,  Sybell  hoped,  might  influence  for  his  good  the  young 
agnostic  poet  who  had  written  a  sonnet  on  her  muff-chain, 
a  very  daring  sonnet,  which  Doll,  who  did  not  care  for 
poetry,  had  not  been  shown.  Hither,  by  mistake,  think- 
ing it  was  an  ordinary  dinner-party,  came  Hugh,  whom 
Sybell  said  she  had  discovered,  and  who  was  not  aware 
that  he  was  in  need  of  discovery.  And  hither  also  on  this 
particular  evening  came  Rachel  West,  whom  Sybell  had 
pronounced  to  be  very  intelligent  a  few  days  before,  and 
who  was  serenely  unconscious  that  she  was  present  on 
her  probation,  and  that  if  she  did  not  say  something  strik- 
ing she  would  never  be  asked  again. 

Doll  Loftus,  SybelFs  husband,  was  standing  by  Rachel 
when  Hugh  came  in.  He  felt  drawn  towards  her  because 
she  was  not  "clever,"  as  far  as  her  appearance  went.  At 
any  rate,  she  had  not  the  touzled,  ill-groomed  hair  which 
he  had  learned  to  associate  with  female  genius. 

"This  sort  of  thing  is  beyond  me,"  he  said,  mournfully, 
to  Rachel,  his  eyes  travelling  over  the  assembly  gathered 
round  his  wife,  whose  remarks  were  calling  forth  admir- 

20 


RED    POTTAGE 

ing  laughter.  "I  don't  understand  half  they  say,  and 
when  I  do  I  sometimes  wish  I  didn't.  But  I  suppose — " 
tentatively — "you  go  in  for  all  this  sort  of  thing  ?" 

"I?"  said  Rachel,  astonished.  "  I  don't  go  in  for  any- 
thing. But  what  sort  of  thing  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  There  is  Scarlett/'  said  Doll,  with  relief,  who  hated 
definitions,  and  felt  the  conversation  was  on  the  slippery 
verge  of  becoming  deep.  "  Do  you  know  him  ?  Looks 
as  if  he'd  seen  a  ghost,  doesn't  he  ?" 

Rachel's  interest,  never  a  heavy  sleeper,  was  instantly 
awakened  as  she  saw  Sybell  piloting  Hugh  towards  her. 
She  recognized  him — the  man  she  had  seen  last  night  in 
the  hansom  and  afterwards  at  the  Newhavens'.  A  glance 
showed  her  that  his  trouble,  whatever  it  might  be,  had 
pierced  beyond  the  surface  feelings  of  anger  and  impa- 
tience and  had  reached  the  quick  of  his  heart.  The 
young  man,  pallid  and  heavy-eyed,  bore  himself  well,  and 
Rachel  respected  him  for  his  quiet  demeanor  and  a  certain 
dignity,  which,  for  the  moment,  obliterated  the  slight  in- 
decision of  his  face,  and  gave  his  mouth  the  firmness 
which  it  lacked.  It  seemed  to  Rachel  as  if  he  had  but 
now  stood  by  a  death-bed,  and  had  brought  with  him  into 
the  crowded  room  the  shadow  of  an  inexorable  fate. 

The  others  only  perceived  that  he  had  a  headache. 
Hugh  did  not  deny  it.  He  complained  of  the  great  heat 
to  Sybell,  but  not  to  Rachel.  Something  in  her  clear  eyes 
told  him,  as  they  told  many  others,  that  small  lies  and 
petty  deceits  might  belaid  aside  with  impunity  in  dealing 
with  her.  He  felt  no  surprise  at  seeing  her,  no  return  of 
the  sudden  violent  emotion  of  the  night  before.  He  had 
never  spoken  to  her  till  this  moment,  but  yet  he  felt  that 
her  eyes  were  old  friends,  tried  to  the  uttermost  and 
found  faithful  in  some  forgotten  past.  Rachel's  eyes  had 
a  certain  calm  fixity  in  them  that  comes  not  of  natural 
temperament,  but  of  past  conflict,  long  waged,  and  barely 
but  irrevocably  won.  A  faint  ray  of  comfort  stole  across 
the  desolation  of  his  mind  as  he  looked  at  her.  He  did  not 
notice  whether  she  was  handsome  or  ugly,  any  more  than 

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RED    POTTAGE 

we  do  when  we  look  at  the  dear  familiar  faces  which  were 
with  us  in  their  childhood  and  ours,  which  have  grown  up 
beside  us  under  the  same  roof,  which  have  rejoiced  with  us 
and  wept  with  us,  and  without  which  heaven  itself  could 
never  be  a  home. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  taking  her  in  to  dinner.  He 
had  imagined  that  she  was  a  woman  of  few  words,  but 
after  a  faint  attempt  at  conversation  he  found  that  he  had 
relapsed  into  silence,  and  that  it  was  she  who  was  talking. 
Presently  the  heavy  cloud  upon  his  brain  lifted.  His 
strained  face  relaxed.  She  glanced  at  him,  and  continued 
her  little  monologue.  Her  face  had  brightened. 

He  had  dreaded  this  dinner-party,  this  first  essay  to 
preserve  his  balance  in  public  with  his  frightful  invisible 
burden;  but  he  was  getting  through  it  better  than  he  had 
expected. 

"  I  have  come  back  to  what  is  called  society,"  Eachel 
was  saying,  "  after  nearly  seven  years  of  an  exile  some- 
thing like  Nebuchadnezzar's,  and  there  are  two  things 
which  I  find  as  difficult  as  Kipling's  '  silly  sailors '  found 
their  harps  '  which  they  twanged  unhandily." 

' '  Is  small  talk  one  of  them  ?"  asked  Hugh.  ' i  It  has 
always  been  a  difficulty  to  me/' 

"  On  the  contrary/'  said  Rachel.  "  I  plume  myself  on 
that.  Surely  my  present  sample  is  not  so  much  below  the 
average  that  you  need  ask  me  that/' 

"  I  did  not  recognize  that  it  was  small  talk/'  said  Hugh, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "If  it  really  is,  I  can  only  say  I  shall 
have  brain  fever  if  you  pass  on  to  what  you  might  call 
conversation/' 

It  was  to  him  as  if  a  miniature  wavelet  of  a  great  ocean 
somewhere  in  the  distance  had  crept  up  to  laugh  and  break 
at  his  feet.  He  did  not  recognize  that  this  tiniest  runlet 
which  fell  back  at  once  was  of  the  same  element  as  the 
tidal  wave  which  had  swept  over  him  yesternight. 

"  But  are  you  aware,"  said  Rachel,  dropping  her  voice 
a  little,  "it  is  beginning  to  dawn  upon  me  that  this  even- 
ing's gathering  is  met  together  for  exalted  conversation, 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  perhaps  we  ought  to  be  practising  a  little.  I  feel 
certain  that  after  dinner  you  will  be  '  drawn  through  the 
clefts  of  confession '  by  Miss  Barker,  the  woman  in  the 
high  dinner  gown  with  orange  velvet  sleeves.  Mrs.  Lof- 
tns  introduced  her  to  me  when  I  arrived  as  the  '  apostle  of 
humanity.'* 

"  Why  should  you  fix  on  that  particular  apostle  for 
me?"  said  Hugh,  looking  resentfully  at  a  large -faced 
woman  who  was  talking  in  an  " intense"  manner  to  a 
slightly  bewildered  Bishop. 

"  It  is  a  prophetic  instinct,  nothing  more." 

"I  will  have  a  prophetic  instinct,  too,  then,"  said 
Hugh,  helping  himself  at  last  to  the  dish  which  was  pre- 
sented to  him,  to  KacheFs  relief.  "  I  shall  give  you  the — " 
looking  slowly  down  the  table. 

"The  Bishop?" 

"  Certainly  not,  after  your  disposal  of  me." 

"  Well,  then,  the  poet?  I  am  sure  he  is  a  poet  because 
his  tie  is  uneven  and  his  hair  is  so  long.  Why  do  literary 
men  wear  their  hair  long,  and  literary  women  wear  it 
short.  I  should  like  the  poet." 

"You  shall  not  have  him,"  said  Hugh,  with  decision. 
"  I  am  hesitating  between  the  bald  young  man  with  the 
fat  hand  and  the  immense  ring  and  the  old  professor  who 
is  drawing  plans  on  the  table-cloth." 

(S  The  apostle  told  me  with  bated  breath  that  the  voung 
man  with  the  ring  is  Mr.  Hervey,  the  author  of  Un- 
ashamed." 

Hugh  looked  at  his  plate  to  conceal  his  disgust. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  buzz  of  conversation,  and  into 
it  fell  straightway  the  voice  of  the  apostle  like  a  brick 
through  a  skylight. 

"  The  need  of  the  present  age  is  the  realization  of  our 
brotherhood  with  sin  and  suffering  and  poverty.  West 
London  in  satin  and  diamonds  does  not  hear  her  sister 
East  London  in  rags  calling  to  her  to  deliver  her.  The 
voice  of  East  London  has  been  drowned  in  the  dance- 
music  of  the  West  End." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Sybell  gazed  with  awed  admiration  at  the  apostle. 

"  What  a  beautiful  thought,"  she  said. 

"Miss  Gusley's  Idyll  of  East  London,"  said  Hugh,  "is 
a  voice  which,  at  any  rate,  has  been  fully  heard." 

The  apostle  put  up  a  pince-nez  on  a  bone  leg  and  looked 
at  Hugh. 

"I  entirely  disapprove  of  that  little  book,"  she  said. 
"It  is  misleading  and  wilfully  one-sided." 

"  Hester  Gusley  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine,"  said  Sybell, 
"  and  I  must  stand  up  for  her.  She  is  the  sister  of  our 
clergyman,  who  is  a  very  clever  man.  In  fact,  I  am  not 
sure  he  isn't  the  cleverest  of  the  two.  She  and  I  have 
great  talks.  AVe  have  so  much  in  common.  How  strange 
it  seems  that  she  who  lives  in  the  depths  of  the  country 
should  have  written  a  story  of  the  East  End !" 

"  That  is  always  so,"  said  the  author  of  Unashamed,  in 
a  sonorous  voice.  "  The  novel  has  of  late  been  dwarfed 
to  the  scope  of  the  young  English  girl " — he  pronounced  it 
gurl — "  who  writes  from  her  imagination  and  not  from  her 
experience.  What  true  art  requires  of  us  is  a  faithful 
rendering  of  a  great  experience." 

He  looked  round,  as  if  challenging  the  world  to  say  that 
Unashamed  was  not  a  lurid  personal  reminiscence. 

Sybell  was  charmed.  She  felt  that  none  of  her  previous 
dinner-parties  had  reached  such  a  high  level  as  this  one. 

"  A  faithful  rendering  of  a  great  experience,"  she  re- 
peated. "  How  I  wish  Hester  were  here  to  hear  that.  I 
often  tell  her  she  ought  to  see  life,  and  cultivated  society 
would  do  so  much  for  her.  I  found  her  out  a  year  ago, 
and  I'm  always  begging  people  to  read  her  book,  and  I 
simply  long  to  introduce  her  to  clever  people  and  oblige 
the  world  to  recognize  her  talent." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  it  is  not  yet  fully  recognized,"  said 
Hugh,  in  a  level  voice;  "but  if  The  Idyll  received  only 
partial  recognition,  it  was,  at  any  rate,  enthusiastic.  And 
it  is  not  forgotten." 

Sybell  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable,  and  conceived  a  faint 
dislike  of  Hugh  as  an  uncongenial  person. 

24 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  apostle  and  the  poet  began  to  speak  simultaneously, 
but  the  female  key  was  the  highest,  and  prevailed. 

"  We  all  agree  in  admiring  Miss  Gusley's  delicate  piece 
of  workmanship,"  said  the  apostle,  both  elbows  on  the 
table  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  "  but  it  is  a  misfortune 
to  the  cause  of  suffering  humanity — to  our  cause — when 
the  books  which  pretend  to  set  forth  certain  phases  of  its 
existence  are  written  by  persons  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
life  they  describe." 

"How  true!"  said  Sybell.  "I  have  often  thought  it, 
but  I  never  could  put  it  into  words  as  you  do.  Oh  !  how 
I  agree  with  you  and  Mr.  Hervey !  As  I  often  say  to 
Hester,  '  How  can  you  describe  anything  if  you  don't  go 
anywhere  or  see  anything1?  I  can't  give  you  my  experi- 
ences. No  one  can/  I  said  that  to  her  only  a  month 
ago,  when  she  refused  to  come  up  to  London  with  me." 

Rachel's  white  face  and  neck  had  taken  on  them  the 
pink  transparent  color  that  generally  dwelt  only  in  the 
curves  of  her  small  ears. 

"Why  do  you  think  Miss  Gusley  is  ignorant  of  the  life 
she  describes  ?"  she  said,  addressing  the  apostle. 

The  author  and  the  apostle  both  opened  their  mouths 
at  the  same  moment,  only  to  register  a  second  triumph  of 
the  female  tongue. 

Miss  Barker  was  in  her  element.  The  whole  table  was 
listening.  She  shrugged  her  orange-velvet  shoulders. 

"  Those  who  have  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  poor,"  she 
said,  sententiously,  "  would  recognize  at  once  the  impossi- 
bility of  Miss  Gusley's  characters  a"nd  situations." 

"  To  me  they  seem  real,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Miss  West,  you  will  excuse  me,  but  a 
young  lady  like  yourself,  nursed  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  look  at  life  with  the  same  eyes  as  a 
poor  waif  like  myself,  who  has  penetrated  to  the  very  core 
of  the  city,  and  who  has  heard  the  stifled  sigh  of  a  vast 
perishing  humanity." 

"I  lived  in  the  midst  of  it  for  six  years,"  said  Rachel. 
"  I  did  not  cast  in  my  lot  with  the  poor,  for  I  was  one  of 

25 


RED    POTTAGE 

them,  and  earned  my  bread  among  them.  Miss  Gusley's 
book  may  not  be  palatable  in  some  respects,  the  district 
visitor  and  the  woman  missionary  are  certainly  treated 
with  harshness,  but,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  The  Idyll 
is  a  true  word  from  first  to  last." 

There  was  in  Rachel's  voice  a  restrained  force  that 
vaguely  stirred  all  the  occupants  of  the  room.  Every  one 
looked  at  her,  and  for  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  She  be- 
came quite  colorless. 

'*'  Very  striking.  Just  what  I  should  have  said  in  her 
pla^e,"  said  Sybell  to  herself.  "  I  will  ask  her  again." 

"  I  can  hear  it  raining,"  said  Doll's  voice  from  the  head 
of  the  table  to  the  company  in  general.  "If  it  will  only 
go  on  for  a  week  without  stopping  there  may  be  some 
hope  of  the  crops  yet." 

The  conversation  buzzed  up  again,  and  Rachel  turned 
instantly  to  Hugh,  before  Mr.  Hervey,  leaning  forward 
with  his  ring,  had  time  to  address  her. 

Hugh  alone  saw  what  a  superhuman  ejJort  it  had  been 
to  her  to  overcome  her  shrinking  from,  mentioning,  not 
her  previous  poverty,  but  her  personal  experience.  She 
had  sacrificed  her  natural  reserve,  which  he  could  see  was 
great ;  she  had  even  set  good  taste  at  defiance  to  defend 
Hester  Gusley's  book.  Hugh  had  shuddered  as  he  heard 
her  speak.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  have  obtruded 
himself  on  so  mixed  an  assembly.  Yet  he  saw  that 
it  had  cost  her  more  to  do  so  than  it  would  have  cost 
him. 

He  began  to  remember  having  heard  people  speak  of  an 
iron-master's  daughter,  whose  father  had  failed  and  died, 
and  who,  after  several  years  of  dire  poverty,  had  lately  in- 
herited a  vast  fortune  from  her  father's  partner.  It  had 
been  talked  about  at  the  time,  a  few  months  ago.  This 
must  be  she. 

"  You  have  a  great  affection  for  Miss  Gusley,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  1  have,"  said  Rachel,  her  lip  still  quivering.  "  But  if 
I  disliked  her  I  hope  I  should  have  said  the  same.  Sure- 

26 


RED    POTTAGE 

ly  it  is  not  necessary  to  love  the  writer  in  order  to  defend 
the  book." 

Hugh  was  silent.  He  looked  at  her,  and  wished  that 
she  might  always  be  on  his  side. 

"  About  two  courses  ago  I  was  going  to  tell  you,"  said 
Rachel,  smiling,  "  of  one  of  my  chief  difficulties  on  my 
return  to  the  civilized  world  and  '  Society/  But  now 
you  have  had  an  example  of  it.  I  am  trying  to  cure 
myself  of  the  trick  of  becoming  interested  in  conversa- 
tion. I  must  learn  to  use  words  as  counters,  not  as 
coins.  I  need  not  disbelieve  what  I  say,  but  I  must  not 
speak  of  anything  to  which  I  attach  value.  I  perceive 
that  to  do  this  is  an  art  and  a  means  of  defence  from  in- 
vasion. But  I,  on  the  contrary,  become  interested,  as  you 
have  just  seen.  I  forget  that  I  am  only  playing  a  game, 
and  I  rush  into  a  subject  like  a  bull  into  a  china-shop, 
and  knock  about  all  the  crockery  until — as  I  am  not  op- 
posed by  my  native  pitchfork — I  suddenly  return  to  my 
senses,  and  discover  that  I  have  mistaken  a  game  for  real 
earnest." 

"  We  were  all  in  Earnest  five  minutes  ago,"  said  Hugh; 
"  at  least,  I  was.  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  Miss  Gusley 
patronized  by  all  these  failures  and  amateurs.  But,  unless 
I  am  very  much  mistaken,  jou.  will  find  several  pitchforks 
laid  up  for  you  in  the  drawing-room." 

"I  don't  mean  to  smash  any  more  china,"  said  Rachel. 

Another  wavelet  skimmed  in  and  broke  a  little  further 
up  the  sand.  A  sense  of  freshness,  of  expectation  was  in 
the  air.  The  great  gathered  ocean  was  stirring  itself  in 
the  distance.  Hugh  had  forgotten  his  trouble. 

He  turned  the  conversation  back  to  Hester  Gusley  and 
her  writing.  He  spoke  of  her  with  sympathy  and  appre- 
ciation, and  presently  detected  a  softness  in  Rachel's  eyes 
which  made  him  jealous  of  Hester. 

By  the  time  the  evening  was  over  the  imperceptible 
travelling  of  the  summer  sea  had  reached  as  far  as  the 
tidal  wave. 

Hugh  left  when  Rachel  did,  accompanying  her  to  her 

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RED    POTTAGE 

carriage.  At  the  door  were  the  darkness  and  the  rain. 
At  the  door  with  them  the  horror  and  despair  of  the  morn- 
ing were  in  wait  for  him,  and  laid  hold  upon  him.  Hugh 
shuddered,  and  turned  instinctively  to  Rachel. 

She  was  holding  out  her  hand  to  him.  He  took  it  and 
held  it  tightly  in  his  sudden  fear  and  desolation. 

' '  When  shall  I  meet  you  again  ?"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

A  long  look  passed  between  them.  Hugh's  tortured 
soul,  full  of  passionate  entreaty,  leaped  to  his  eyes.  Hers, 
sad  and  steadfast,  met  the  appeal  in  his,  and  recognized 
it  as  a  claim.  There  was  no  surprise  in  her  quiet  face. 

"I  ride  early  in  the  Row/'  she  said.  "You  can  join 
me  there  if  you  wish.  Good-night." 

She  took  her  hand  with  great  gentleness  out  of  his  and 
drove  away. 

And  the  darkness  shut  down  again  on  Hugh's  heart. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Ici  bas  tous  les  hommes  pleurent 
Leurs  amities  et  leurs  amours. 

— BOURGET. 

MANY  sarcastic  but  true  words  have  been  said  by  man, 
and  in  no  jealous  spirit,  concerning  woman's  friendship 
for  woman.  The  passing  judgment  of  the  majority  of 
men  on  such  devotion  might  be  summed  up  in  the  words, 
"  Occupy  till  I  come."  It  does  occupy  till  they  do  come. 
And  if  they  don't  come  the  hastily  improvised  friendship 
may  hold  together  for  years,  like  an  unseaworthy  boat  in 
a  harbor,  which  looks  like  a  boat  but  never  goes  out  to  sea. 

But,  nevertheless,  here  and  there  among  its  numberless 
counterfeits  a  friendship  rises  up  between  two  women 
which  sustains  the  life  of  both,  which  is  still  young  when 
life  is  waning,  which  man's  love  and  motherhood  cannot 
displace  nor  death  annihilate ;  a  friendship  which  is  not 
the  solitary  affection  of  an  empty  heart,  nor  the  deepest 
affection  of  a  full  one,  but  which  nevertheless  lightens  the 
burdens  of  this  world  and  lays  its  pure  hand  upon  the 
next. 

Such  a  friendship,  very  deep,  very  tender,  existed  be- 
tween Rachel  West  and  Hester  Gusley.  It  dated  back  from 
the  nursery  days,  when  Hester  and  Rachel  solemnly  eyed 
each  other,  and  then  made  acquaintance  in  the  dark  gar- 
dens of  Portman  Square,  into  which  Hester  introduced  a 
fortified  castle  with  a  captive  princess  in  it,  and  a  rescuing 
prince  and  a  dragon,  and  several  other  ingredients  of  ro- 
mance to  the  awed  amazement  of  Rachel — stolid,  solid, 
silent  Rachel — who  loved  all  two  and  four  legged  creat- 
ures, but  who  never  made  them  talk  to  each  other  as  Hes- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

ter  did.  And  Hester,  in  blue  serge,  told  Rachel,  in  crim- 
son velvet,  as  they  walked  hand  in  hand  in  front  of  their 
nursery-maids,  what  the  London  sparrows  said  to  each 
other  in  the  gutters,  and  how  they  considered  the  gravel 
path  in  the  square  was  a  deep  river  suitable  to  bathe  in. 
And  when  the  spring  was  coming,  and  the  prince  had  res- 
cued the  princess  so  often  from  the  dungeon  in  the  laurel- 
bushes  that  Hester  was  tired  of  it,  she  told  Rachel  how 
the  elms  were  always  sighing  because  they  were  shut 
up  in  town,  and  how  they  went  out  every  night  with 
their  roots  into  the  green  country  to  see  their  friends,  and 
came  back,  oh!  so  early  in  the  morning,  before  any  one  was 
awake  to  miss  them.  And  Rachel's  heart  yearned  after 
Hester,  and  she  gave  her  her  red  horse  and  the  tin  duck 
and  magnet,  and  Hester  made  stories  about  them  all. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  Rachel's  mother,  who  had 
long  viewed  the  intimacy  with  complacency,  presented  her 
compliments,  in  a  note-sheet  with  two  immense  gilt  crests' 
on  it,  to  Hester's  aunt,  and  requested  that  her  little  niece 
might  be  allowed  to  come  to  tea  with  her  little  daughter. 
And  Lady  Susan  Gusley,  who  had  never  met  the  rich 
iron-master's  wife  in  this  world,  and  would  probably  be 
equally  exclusive  in  the  next,  was  about  to  refuse,  when 
Hester,  who  up  to  that  moment  had  apparently  taken  no 
interest  in  the  matter,  suddenly  cast  herself  on  the  floor  in 
a  paroxysm  of  despair  and  beat  her  head  against  the  car- 
pet. The  tearful  entreaties  of  her  aunt  gradually  elicited 
the  explanation,  riddled  by  sobs,  that  Hester  could  never 
take  an  interest  in  life  again,  could  never  raise  herself  even 
to  a  sitting  position,  nor  dry  her  eyes  on  her  aunt's  hand- 
kerchief, unless  she  were  allowed  to  go  to  tea  with  Rachel 
and  see  her  dormouse. 

Lady  Susan,  much  upset  herself,  and  convinced  that 
these  outbursts  were  prejudicial  to  Hester's  health,  gave 
way  at  once,  and  a  few  days  later  Hester,  pale,  shy,  in  a 
white  muffler,  escorted  by  mademoiselle,  went  to  tea  in 
the  magnificent  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  square,  and 
saw  Rachel's  round  head  without  a  feathered  hat  on  it, 

30 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  both  children  were  consumed  by  shyness  until  the  two 
mademoiselles  withdrew  into  another  room,  and  Rachel 
showed  Hester  the  dormouse  which  she  had  found  in  the 
woods  in  the  country,  and  which  ate  out  of  her  hand. 
And  Hester  made  a  little  poem  on  it,  beginning, 

"There  was  a  mouse  in  Portmau  Square"; 

and  so,  with  many  breaks,  the  friendship  attained  a  surer 
footing,  and  the  intimacy  grew  with  their  growth,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  Lady  Susan  had  felt  unable  (notwithstand- 
ing the  marked  advances  of  Mrs.  West,  possibly  because 
of  them)  to  enlarge  her  visiting-list,  in  spite  of  many  other 
difficulties  which  were  only  in  the  end  surmounted  by  the 
simplicity  of  character  which  Rachel  had  not  inherited 
from  her  parents. 

And  then,  after  both  girls  had  danced  through  a  Lon- 
don season  in  different  ball-rooms,  RacheFs  parents  died, 
her  mother  first,  and  then — by  accident — her  father,  leav- 
ing behind  him  an  avalanche  of  unsuspected  money  diffi- 
culties, in  which  even  his  vast  fortune  was  engulfed. 

Hard  years  followed  for  Rachel.  She  ate  the  bread  of 
carefulness  in  the  houses  of  poor  relations  not  of  high  de- 
gree, with  whom  her  parents  had  quarrelled  when  they 
had  made  their  money  and  began  to  entertain  social  am- 
bitions. She  learned  what  it  was  to  be  the  person  of  least 
importance  in  families  of  no  importance.  She  essayed  to 
teach,  and  failed.  She  had  no  real  education.  She  made 
desperate  struggles  for  independence,  and  learned  how 
others  failed  besides  herself.  She  left  her  relations  and 
their  bitter  bread  and  came  to  London,  and  struggled 
with  those  who  struggled,  and  saw  how  Temptation 
spreads  her  net  for  bleeding  feet.  Because  she  loved 
Hester  she  accepted  from  her  half  her  slender  pin-money. 
Hester  had  said,  "  If  I  were  poor,  Rachel,  how  would  you 
bear  it  if  I  would  not  let  you  help  me?"  And  Rachel  had 
wept  slow,  difficult  tears,  and  had  given  Hester  the  com- 
fort of  helping  her.  The  greater  generosity  was  with 
Rachel,  and  Hester  knew  it. 

31 


RED    POTTAGE 

And  as  Rachel's  fortunes  sank,  Hester's  rose.  Lady 
Susan  Gusley  had  one  talent,  and  she  did  not  lay  it  up  in 
a  napkin.  She  had  the  art  of  attracting  people  to  her 
house,  that  house  to  which  Mrs.  West  had  never  forced  an 
entrance.  Hester  was  thrown  from  the  first  into  a  society 
which  her  clergyman  brother,  who  had  never  seen  it,  pro- 
nounced to  be  frivolous,  worldly,  profane,  but  which  no 
one  has  called  dull.  There  were  many  facets  in  Hester's 
character,  and  Lady  Susan  had  managed  to  place  her 
where  they  caught  the  light.  Was  she  witty?  Was  she 
attractive?  Who  shall  say?  Man  is  wisely  averse  to  "  clev- 
erness "  in  a  woman,  but  if  he  possesses  any  armor  where- 
with to  steel  himself  against  wit  it  is  certain  that  he  sel- 
dom puts  it  on.  She  refused  several  offers,  one  so  brill- 
iant that  no  woman  ever  believed  that  it  was  really  made. 

Lady  Susan  saw  that  her  niece,  without  a  fortune,  with 
little  beauty  save  that  of  high  breeding,  with  weak  health, 
was  becoming  a  personage.  "What  will  she  become?" 
people  said.  And  in  the  meanwhile  Hester  did  nothing 
beyond  dressing  extremely  well.  And  everything  she  saw 
and  every  person  she  met  added  fuel  to  an  unlit  fire  in  her 
soul. 

At  last  Rachel  was  able  to  earn  a  meagre  living  by  type- 
writing, and  for  four  years,  happy  by  contrast  with  those 
when  despair  and  failure  had  confronted  her,  she  lived  by 
the  work  of  her  hands  among  those  as  poor  as  herself. 
Gradually  she  had  lost  sight  of  all  her  acquaintances.  She 
had  been  out  of  the  school-room  for  too  short  a  time  to 
make  friends.  And,  alas  !  in  the  set  in  which  she  had 
been  launched  poverty  was  a  crime  ;  no,  perhaps  not  quite 
that,  but  as  much  a  bar  to  intercourse  as  in  another  class 
a  lack  of  the  letter  li  is  found  to  be. 

It  was  while  Rachel  was  still  struggling  for  a  livelihood 
that  the  event  happened  which  changed  the  bias  of  her 
character,  as  a  geranium  transplanted  from  the  garden 
changes  its  attitude  in  a  cottage  window. 

On  one  of  the  early  days  of  her  despair  she  met  on  the 
dreary  stairs  of  the  great  rabbit-warren  in  which  she  had 


RED    POTTAGE 

a  room,  a  man  with  whom  she  had  been  acquainted  in  the 
short  year  of  her  social  life  before  the  collapse  of  her  fort- 
unes. He  had  paid  her  considerable  attention,  and  she 
had  thought  once  or  twice,  with  momentary  bitterness,  that, 
like  the  rest,  he  had  not  cared  to  find  out  what  had  be- 
come of  her.  She  greeted  him  with  shy  but  evident 
pleasure.  She  took  for  granted  he  had  corne  to  see  her, 
and  he  allowed  her  to  remain  under  that  delusion.  In  re- 
ality he  had  been  hunting  up  an  old  model  whom  he 
wanted  for  his  next  picture,  and  who  had  silently  left 
Museum  Buildings  some  months  before  without  leaving 
her  address.  He  had  genuinely  admired  her,  though  he 
had  forgotten  her,  and  he  was  unaffectedly  delighted  to 
see  her  again. 

That  one  chance  meeting  was  the  first  of  many.  Flowers 
came  to  Rachel's  little  room,  and  romance  came  with 
them.  Rachel's  proud,  tender  heart  struggled,  and  then 
gave  way  before  this  radiant  first  love  blossoming  in  the 
midst  of  her  loneliness.  At  last,  on  a  March  afternoon, 
when  the  low  sun  caught  the  daffodils  he  had  brought  her, 
he  told  her  he  loved  her. 

Days  followed,  exquisite  days,  which  have  none  like 
them  in  later  life  whatever  later  life  may  bring.  That 
year  the  spring  came  early,  and  they  went  often  together 
into  the  country.  And  that  year  when  all  the  world  was 
white  with  blossom  the  snow  came  and  laid  upon  earth's 
bridal  veil  a  white  shroud.  Every  cup  of  May  blossom, 
every  petal  of  hawthorn,  bent  beneath  its  burden  of  snow. 
And  so  it  was  in  the  full  spring-tide  of  RacheFs  heart. 
The  snow  came  down  upon  it.  She  discovered  at  last 
that  though  he  loved  her  he  did  not  wish  to  marry  her  ; 
that  even  from  the  time  of  that  first  meeting  he  had  never 
intended  to  marry  her.  That  discovery  was  a  shroud. 
She  wrapped  her  dead  love  in  it,  and  would  fain  have 
buried  it  out  of  her  sight. 

But  only  after  a  year  of  conflict  was  she  suffered  to 
bury  it — after  a  year  during  which  the  ghost  of  her  dead 
ever  came  back,  and  came  back  to  importune  her  vainly 
c  33 


RED    POTTAGE 

with  its  love.  Rachel's  poor  neighbors  grew  accustomed 
to  see  the  tall,  handsome,  waiting  figure  which  always  re- 
turned and  returned,  but  which  at  last,  after  one  dreadful 
day,  was  seen  no  more  in  Museum  Buildings.  Rachel  had 
laid  the  ghost  at  last.  But  the  conflict  remained  graven 
in  her  face. 

On  a  certain  cold  winter  morning  Hester  darted  across 
the  wet  pavement  from  the  brougham  to  the  untidy  en- 
trance of  Museum  Buildings  where  Rachel  still  lived.  It 
was  a  miserable  day.  The  streets  and  bare  trees  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  drawn  in  in  ink,  and  the  whole  care- 
lessly blotted  before  it  was  dry.  All  the  outlines  were 
confused,  blurred.  The  cold  penetrated  to  the  very  bones 
of  the  shivering  city. 

Rachel  had  just  come  in,  wet  and  tired,  bringing  with 
her  a  roll  of  manuscript  to  be  transcribed.  A  woman  wait- 
ing for  her  on  the  endless  stone  stairs  had  cursed  her  for 
taking  the  bread  out  of  her  mouth. 

"  He  always  employed  me  till  you  came,"  she  shrieked, 
shaking  her  fist  at  her,  "  and  now  he  gives  it  all  to  you 
because  you're  younger  and  better-looking." 

She  gave  the  woman  as  much  as  she  dared  spare,  the 
calculation  did  not  take  long,  and  went  on  climbing  the 
stairs. 

Something  in  the  poor  creature's  words,  something 
vague  but  repulsive  in  her  remembrance  of  the  man  who 
paid  her  for  the  work  by  which  she  could  barely  live,  fell 
like  lead  into  Rachel's  heart.  She  looked  out  dumbly 
over  the  wilderness  of  roofs.  The  suffering  of  the  world 
was  eating  into  her  soul ;  the  suffering  of  this  vast  travail- 
ing East  London,  where  people  trod  each  other  down  to 
live. 

"If  any  one  had  told  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "when 
I  was  rich,  that  I  lived  on  the  flesh  and  blood  of  my  fellow- 
creatures,  that  my  virtue  and  ease  and  pleasure  were 
bought  by  their  degradation  and  toil  and  pain,  I  should 
not  have  believed  it,  and  I  should  have  been  angry.  If  I 

34 


RED    POTTAGE 

had  been  told  that  the  clothes  I  wore,  the  food  I  ate,  the 
pen  I  wrote  with,  the  ink  I  used,  the  paper  I  wrote  on — 
all  these,  and  everything  I  touched,  from  my  soap  to  my 
match-box,  especially  my  match-box,  was  the  result  of 
sweated  labor,  I  should  not  have  believed  it,  I  should 
have  laughed.  But  yet  it  is  so.  If  I  had  not  been  rich 
once  myself  I  should  think  as  all  these  people  do,  that 
the  rich  are  devils  incarnate  to  let  such  things  go  on. 
They  have  the  power  to  help  us.  We  have  none  to  help 
ourselves.  But  they  never  use  it.  The  rich  grind  the 
poor  for  their  luxuries  with  their  eyes  shut,  and  we  grind 
each  other  for  our  daily  bread  with  our  eyes  open.  I  have 
got  that  woman's  work.  I  have  struggled  hard  enough 
to  get  it,  but,  though  I  did  not  realize  it,  I  might  have 
known  that  I  had  only  got  on  to  the  raft  by  pushing 
some  one  else  off  it." 

Rachel  looked  out  across  the  miles  of  roofs  which  lay 
below  her  garret  window.  The  sound  was  in  her  ears  of 
that  great  whirlpool  wherein  youth  and  beauty  and  inno- 
cence go  down  quickly  day  by  day.  The  wilderness  of 
leaden  roofs  turned  suddenly  before  her  eyes  into  a  sul- 
len furrowed  sea  of  shame  and  crime  which,  awaiting  no 
future  day  of  judgment,  daily  gave  up  its  awful  dead. 

Presently  Hester  came  in,  panting  a  little  after  the  long 
ascent  of  worn  stairs,  and  dragging  with  her  a  large  parcel. 
It  was  a  fur-lined  cloak.  Hester  spread  it  mutely  before 
her  friend,  and  looked  beseechingly  at  her.  Then  she 
kissed  her,  and  the  two  girls  clung  together  for  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"  Dearest,"  said  Rachel,  "  don't  give  me  new  things.  It 
isn't  that— you  know  I  did  take  it  when  I  was  in  need. 
But,  oh,  Hester,  I  know  you  can't  afford  it.  I  should  not 
mind  if  you  were  rich,  at  least,  I  would  try  not,  but — if 
you  would  only  give  me  some  of  your  old  clothes  instead. 
I  should  like  them  all  the  better  because  you  had  worn 
them."  And  Rachel  kissed  the  lapel  of  Hester's  coat. 

"  I  can't/'  whispered  Hester  into  Rachel's  hair,  "  The 
best  is  only  just  good  enough." 

35 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Wouldn't  it  be  kinder  to  me  ?" 

Hester  trembled,  and  then  burst  into  tears. 

"I  will  wear  it,  I  will  wear  it,"  said  Rachel,  hurriedly. 
"  Look,  Hester  !  I  have  got  it  on.  How  deliciously  warm  ! 
and — do  look  ! — it  has  two  little  pockets  in  the  fur  lining." 

But  Hester  wept  passionately,  and  Rachel  sat  down  by 
her  on  the  floor  in  the  new  cloak  till  the  paroxysm  was  over. 

How  does  a  subtle  affinity  find  a  foothold  between  nat- 
ures which  present  an  obvious,  a  violent  contrast  to  each 
other  ?  Why  do  the  obvious  and  the  subtle  forget  their 
life-long  feud  at  intervals  and  suddenly  appear  for  a  mo- 
ment in  each  other's  society  ? 

Rachel  was  physically  strong.  Hester  was  weak.  The 
one  was  calm,  patient,  practical,  equable,  the  other  imagi- 
native, unbalanced,  excitable. 

Life  had  not  spoiled  Rachel.  Lady  Susan  Gusley  had 
done  her  best  to  spoil  Hester.  The  one  had  lived  the  un- 
protected life,  and  showed  it  in  her  bearing.  The  other 
had  lived  the  sheltered  life,  and  bore  its  mark  upon  her 
pure  forehead  and  youthful  face. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it,"  said  Hester  at  last.  ( '  I  think  and 
think,  and  I  can't  think  of  anything.  I  would  give  my 
life  for  you,  and  you  will  hardly  let  me  give  you  £3  105. 
6d.  That  is  all  it  cost.  It  is  only  frieze,  that  common 
red  frieze,  and  the  lining  is  only  rabbit."  A  last  tear  fell 
at  the  word  rabbit.  "  I  wanted  to  get  you  a  velvet  one, 
just  the  same  as  my  new  one,  lined  with  chinchilla,  but  I 
knew  it  would  only  make  you  miserable.  I  wish,"  look- 
ing vindictively  at  the  cloak — (e  I  wish  rabbits  had  never 
been  born." 

Rachel  laughed.     Hester  was  evidently  recovering. 

"  Mr.  Scarlett  was  saying  last  night  that  no  one  can 
help  any  one,"  continued  Hester,  turning  her  white,  ex- 
hausted face  to  her  friend.  "He  said  that  we  are  always 
so  placed  that  we  can  only  look  on.  And  I  told  him  that 
could  not  be  true,  but,  oh,  in  my  heart,  Rachel,  I  have 
felt  it  was  true  all  these  long,  long  five  years  since  you 
have  lived  here." 


RED    POTTAGE 

Rachel  came  and  stood  beside  her  at  the  little  window. 
There  was  just  room  for  them  between  the  type-writer 
and  the  bed. 

Far  below,  Hester's  brougham  was  pacing  up  and  down. 

"Then  are  love  and  sympathy  nothing?"  she  said. 
"Those  are  the  real  gifts.  If  I  were  rich  to-morrow  I 
should  look  to  you  just  as  I  do  now  for  the  things  which 
money  can't  buy.  And  those  are  the  things  " — Rachel's 
voice  shook — "which  you  have  always  given  me,  and  which 
I  can't  do  without.  You  feel  my  poverty  more  than  I  do 
myself.  It  crushed  me  at  first  when  I  could  not  support 
myself.  Now  that  I  can  —  and  in  everything  except 
money  I  am  very  rich — I  am1  comparatively  happy." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Rachel  at  last,  with  difficulty,  "if  I 
had  remained  an  heiress  Mr.  Tristram  might  have  mar- 
ried me.  I  feel  nearly  sure  he  would  have  married  me. 
In  that  case  I  lost  my  money  only  just  in  time  to  prevent 
a  much  greater  misfortune,  and  I  am  glad  I  am  as  I  am." 

Rachel  remembered  that  conversation  often  in  after-years 
with  a  sense  of  thankfulness  that  for  once  she,  who  was  so 
reticent,  had  let  Hester  see  how  dear  she  was  to  her. 

The  two  girls  stood  long  together  cheek  against  cheek. 

And  as  Hester  leaned  against  Rachel  the  yearning  of 
her  soul  towards  her  suddenly  lit  up  something  which 
had  long  lain  colossal,  but  inapprehended,  in  the  depths  of 
her  mind.  Her  paroxysm  of  despair  at  her  own  powerless- 
ness  was  followed  by  a  lightning  flash  of  self-revelation. 
She  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  terrible,  beautiful,  inaccessible, 
but  distinct,  where  her  power  lay,  of  which  restless  be- 
wildering hints  had  so  often  mocked  her.  She  had  but 
to  touch  the  houses  and  they  would  fall  down.  She  held 
her  hands  tightly  together  lest  she  should  do  it.  The 
strength  as  of  an  infinite  ocean  swept  in  beneath  her 
weakness,  and  bore  it  upon  its  surface  like  a  leaf. 

"  You  must  go  home,"  said  Rachel  gently,  remember- 
ing Lady  Susan's  punctual  habits. 

Hester  kissed  her  absently  and  went  out  into  the  new 

37 


RED    POTTAGE 

world  which  had  been  pressing  upon  her  all  her  life,  the 
gate  of  which  Love  had  opened  for  her.  For  Love  has 
many  keys  besides  that  of  her  own  dwelling.  Some  who 
know  her  slightly  affirm  that  she  can  only  open  her  own 
cheap  patent  padlock  with  a  secret  word  on  it  that  every- 
body knows.  But  some  who  know  her  better  hold  that 
hers  is  the  master-key  which  will  one  day  turn  all  the 
locks  in  all  the  world. 

A  year  later  Hester's  book,  An  Idyll  of  East  London, 
was  reaping  its  harvest  of  astonished  indignation  and  ad- 
miration, and  her  acquaintances — not  her  friends — were 
still  wondering  how  she  came  to  know  so  much  of  a  life 
of  which  they  decided  she  could  know  nothing,  when  sud- 
denly Lady  Susan  Gusley  died,  and  Hester  went  to  live  in 
the  country  with  her  clergyman  brother. 

A  few  months  later  still,  and  on  a  mild  April  day,  when 
the  poor  London  trees  had  black  buds  on  them,  Rachel 
brushed  and  folded  away  in  the  little  painted  chest  of 
drawers  her  few  threadbare  clothes,  and  put  the  boots — 
which  the  cobbler,  whose  wife  she  had  nursed,  had  patched 
for  her — under  the  shelf  which  held  her  few  cups  and 
plates  and  the  faithful  tin  kettle,  which  had  always 
been  a  cheerful  boiler.  And  she  washed  her  seven  coarse 
handkerchiefs,  and  put  them  in  the  wash-stand  drawer. 
And  then  she  raked  out  the  fire  and  cleaned  the  grate, 
and  set  the  room  in  order.  It  was  quickly  done.  She 
took  up  her  hat,  which  lay  beside  a  bundle  on  the  bed. 
Her  hands  trembled  as  she  put  it  on.  She  looked  wist- 
fully around  her,  and  her  face  worked.  The  little  room 
which  had  looked  so  alien  when  she  came  to  it  six  years 
ago  had  become  a  home.  She  went  to  the  window  and 
kissed  the  pane  through  which  she  had  learned  to  see  so 
much.  Then  she  took  up  the  bundle  and  went  quickly 
out,  locking  the  door  behind  her,  and  taking  the  key  with 
her. 

"I  am  going  away  for  a  time,  but  I  shall  come  back," 
she  said  to  the  cobbler's  wife  on  the  same  landing. 

38 


RED    POTTAGE 

"No  one  comes  back  as  once  goes,"  said  the  woman, 
without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  cheap  blouse  which  she 
was  finishing,  and  which  kept  so  well  the  grim  secret  of 
how  it  came  into  being  that  no  one  was  afraid  of  buy- 
ing it. 

"I  am  keeping  on  the  room." 

The  woman  smiled  incredulously,  giving  one  sharp 
glance  at  the  bundle.  She  had  seen  many  Sittings.  She 
should  buy  the  kettle  when  Rachel's  "  sticks  "  were  sold 
by  the  landlord  in  default  of  the  rent. 

"Well,  you  was  a  good  neighbor,"  she  said.  "  There's 
a-many  as  'ull  miss  you.  Good-bye,  and  good  luck  to  ye. 
I  shaVt  say  as  you've  left." 

"  I  shall  come  back,"  said  Rachel,  hoarsely,  and  she 
slipped  down-stairs  like  a  thief.  She  felt  like  a  thief.  For 
she  was  rich.  The  man  who  had  led  her  father  into  the 
speculations  which  had  ruined  him  had  died  childless, 
and  had  bequeathed  to  her  a  colossal  fortune. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Cure  the  drunkard,  heal  the  insane,  mollify  the  homicide,  civilize 
the  Pawnee,  but  what  lessons  can  be  devised  for  the  debauchee  of 
sentiment  ?— EMERSON. 

A  FORTNIGHT  had  passed  since  the  drawing  of  lots,  and 
Lady  Newhaven  remained  in  ignorance  as  to  which  of  the 
two  men  had  received  his  death-warrant.  Few  have  found 
suspense  easy  to  bear  ;  but  for  the  self-centred  an  intoler- 
able element  is  added  to  it,  which  unselfish  natures  escape. 
From  her  early  youth  Lady  Newhaven  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  viewing  life  in  picturesque  tableaux  vivants  of 
which  she  invariably  formed  the  central  figure.  At  her 
confirmation  the  Bishop,  the  white-robed  clergy,  and  the 
other  candidates  had  served  but  as  a  nebulous  back- 
ground against  which  her  own  white-clad,  kneeling  figure, 
bowed  in  reverent  devotion,  stood  out  in  high  relief. 

When  she  married  Lord  Newhaven  he  took  so  slight  a 
part,  though  a  necessary  one,  in  the  wedding  groups  that 
their  completeness  had  never  been  marred  by  misgivings 
as  to  his  exact  position  in  them.  When,  six  years  later, 
after  one  or  two  mild  flirtations  which  only  served  as  a 
stimulus  tfo  her  love  of  dress — when  at  last  she  met,  as  she 
would  have  expressed  it,  "  the  one  love  of  her  life,"  her 
first  fluctuations  and  final  deviation  from  the  path  of 
honor  were  the  result  of  new  arrangements  round  the 
same  centre. 

The  first  groups  in  which  Hugh  took  part  had  been 
prodigies  of  virtue.  The  young  mother  with  the  Ma- 
donna face — Lady  Newhaven  firmly  believed  that  her  face, 
with  the  crimped  fringe  drawn  down  to  the  eyebrows,  re- 
sembled that  of  a  Madonna  —  with  her  children  round 

40 


RED    POTTAGE 

her,  Lord  Newhaven  as  usual  somewhat  out  of  focus  in 
the  background ;  and  Hugh,  young,  handsome,  devoted, 
heartbroken,  and  ennobled  for  life  by  the  contemplation 
of  such  impregnable  virtue. 

te  You  accuse  me  of  coldness/'  she  had  imagined  her- 
self saying  in  a  later  scene,  when  the  children  and  the 
husband  would  have  made  too  much  of  a  crowd,  and  were 
consequently  omitted.  "I  wish  to  Heaven  I  were  as  cold 
as  I  appear." 

And  she  had  really  said  it  later  on.  Hugh  never  did 
accuse  her  of  coldness,  but  that  was  a  detail.  Those 
words,  conned  over  many  times,  had  nevertheless  actually 
proceeded  out  of  her  mouth.  Few  of  us  have  the  power 
of  saying  anything  we  intend  to  say.  But  Lady  Newhaven 
had  that  power,  and  enjoyed  also  in  consequence  a  pro- 
found belief  in  her  prophetic  instincts  ;  while  others, 
Hugh  not  excepted,  detected  a  premeditated  tone  in  her 
conversation,  and  a  sense  of  incongruity  between  her  re- 
marks and  the  occasion  which  called  them  forth. 

From  an  early  date  in  their  married  life  Lord  Newhaven 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  discounting  these  remarks  by 
making  them  in  rapid  rotation  himself  before  proceeding 
to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"Having  noticed  that  a  mother — I  mean  a  young  moth- 
er— is  never  really  happy  in  the  absence  of  her  children, 
and  that  their  affection  makes  up  for  the  carelessness  of 
their  father,  may  I  ask,  Violet,  what  day  you  wish  to  re- 
turn to  Westhope  ?"  he  said  one  morning  at  breakfast. 

"Any  day,"  she  replied.  "I  am  as  miserable  in  one 
place  as  in  another." 

"  We  will  say  Friday  week,  then,"  returned  Lord  New- 
haven,  ignoring,  as  he  invariably  did,  any  allusion  to  their 
relative  position,  and  because  he  ignored  them  she  made 
many.  "The  country,"  he  added,  hurriedly,  "will  be 
very  refreshing  after  the  glare  and  dust  and  empty  worldly 
society  of  London/' 

She  looked  at  him  in  anger.  She  did  not  understand 
the  reason,  but  she  had  long  vaguely  felt  that  all  conversa- 

41 


RED    POTTAGE 

tion  seemed  to  dry  up  in  his  presence.  He  mopped  it  all 
into  his  own  sponge,  so  to  speak,  and  left  every  subject 
exhausted. 

She  rose  in  silent  dignity,  and  went  to  her  boudoir  and 
lay  down  there.  The  heat  was  very  great,  and  another  fire 
was  burning  within  her,  withering  her  round  cheek,  and 
making  her  small,  plump  hand  look  shrunken  and  thin. 
A  fortnight  had  passed,  and  she  had  not  heard  from 
Hugh.  She  had  written  to  him  many  times,  at  first  only 
imploring  him  to  meet  her,  but  afterwards  telling  him 
she  knew  what  had  happened,  and  entreating  him  to  put 
her  out  of  suspense,  to  send  her  one  line  that  his  life  was 
not  endangered.  She  had  received  no  answer  to  any  of 
her  letters.  She  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  had 
been  intercepted  by  Lord  Newhaven,  and  that  no  doubt 
the  same  fate  had  befallen  Hugh's  letters  to  herself.  For 
some  time  past,  before  the  drawing  of  lots,  she  had  noticed 
that  Hugh's  letters  had  become  less  frequent  and  shorter 
in  length.  She  understood  the  reason  now.  Half  of  them 
had  been  intercepted.  How  that  fact  could  account  for 
the  shortness  of  the  remainder  may  not  be  immediately 
apparent  to  the  prosaic  mind,  but  it  was  obvious  to  Lady 
Newhaven.  That  Hugh  had  begun  to  weary  of  her  could 
not  force  the  narrow  entrance  to  her  mind.  Such  a 
possibility  had  never  been  even  considered  in  the  pict- 
ures of  the  future  with  which  her  imagination  busied 
itself.  But  what  would  the  future  be  ?  The  road  along 
which  she  was  walking  forked  before  her  eyes,  and  her 
usual  perspicacity  was  at  fault.  She  knew  not  in  which 
of  those  two  diverging  paths  the  future  would  lie. 

Would  she  in  eighteen  months'  time — she  should  cer- 
tainly refuse  to  marry  within  the  year — be  standing  at 
the  altar  in  a  "  confection  "  of  lilac  and  white  with  Hugh  ; 
or  would  she  be  a  miserable  wife,  moving  ghostlike  about 
her  house,  in  colored  raiment,  while  a  distant  grave  was 
always  white  with  flowers  sent  by  a  nameless  friend  of  the 
dead  ?  "  How  some  one  must  have  loved  him  !"  she  im- 
agined Hugh's  aged  mother  saying.  And  once,  as  that 

42 


RED    POTTAGE 

bereaved  mother  came  in  the  dusk  to  weep  beside  the 
grave,  did  she  not  see  a  shadowy  figure  start  up,  black- 
robed,  from  the  flower-laden  sod,  and,  hastily  drawing  a 
thick  veil  over  a  beautiful,  despairing  face,  glide  away 
among  the  trees  ?  At  this  point  Lady  Newhaven  always 
began  to  cry.  It  was  too  heart-rending.  And  her  mind 
in  violent  recoil  was  caught  once  more  and  broken  on 
the  same  wheel.  "  Which  ?  Which  f" 

A  servant  entered. 

"Would  her  ladyship  see  Miss  West  for  a  few  min- 
utes ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  glad  to  be  delivered  from 
herself,  if  only  by  the  presence  of  an  acquaintance. 

"It  is  very  charitable  of  you  to  see  me,"  said  Rachel. 
"  Personally,  I  think  morning  calls  ought  to  be  a  penal 
offence.  But  I  came  at  the  entreaty  of  a  former  servant 
of  yours.  I  feel  sure  you  will  let  me  carry  some  message 
of  forgiveness  to  her,  as  she  is  dying.  Her  name  is  Morgan. 
Do  you  remember  her  ?" 

"I  once  had  a  maid  called  Morgan,"  said  Lady  New- 
haven.  "  She  was  drunken,  and  I  had  to  part  with  her 
in  the  end ;  but  I  kept  her  as  long  as  I  could  in  spite  of 
it.  She  had  a  genius  for  hair-dressing." 

"  She  took  your  diamond  heart  pendant,"  continued 
Rachel.  "  She  was  never  found  out.  She  can't  return 
it,  for,  of  course,  she  sold  it  and  spent  the  money.  But 
now  at  last  she  feels  she  did  wrong,  and  she  says  she  will 
die  easier  for  your  forgiveness." 

"  Oh  !  I  forgive  her,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  indifferently. 
"  I  often  wondered  how  I  lost  it.  I  never  cared  about 
it."  She  glanced  at  Rachel,  and  added  tremulously,  "  My 
husband  gave  it  to  me." 

A  sudden  impulse  was  urging  her  to  confide  in  this 
grave,  gentle-eyed  woman.  The  temptation  was  all  the 
stronger  because  Rachel,  who  had  only  lately  appeared  in 
society,  was  not  connected  with  any  portion  of  her  pre- 
vious life.  She  was  as  much  a  chance  acquaintance  as  a 
fellow-passenger  in  a  railway  carriage. 

43 


RED    POTTAGE 

Kachel  rose  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Don't  go,"  whispered  Lady  Newhaven,  taking  her  out- 
stretched hand  and  holding  it. 

"I  think  if  I  stay,"  said  Rachel,  "that  you  may  say 
things  you  will  regret  later  on  when  you  are  feeling 
stronger.  You  are  evidently  tired  out  now.  Everything 
looks  exaggerated  when  we  are  exhausted,  as  I  see  you  are." 

"  I  am  worn  out  with  misery,"  said  Lady  Newhaven. 
"  I  have  not  slept  for  a  fortnight.  I  feel  I  must  tell  some 
one."  And  she  burst  into  violent  weeping. 

Rachel  sat  down  again,  and  waited  patiently  for  the 
hysterical  weeping  to  cease.  Those  in  whom  others  con- 
fide early  learn  that  their  own  engagements,  their  own 
pleasures  and  troubles,  are  liable  to  be  set  aside  at  any 
moment.  Rachel  was  a  punctual,  exact  person,  but  she 
missed  many  trains.  Those  who  sought  her  seldom  real- 
ized that  her  day  was  as  full  as,  possibly  fuller,  than  their 
own.  Perhaps  it  was  only  a  very  small  pleasure  to  which 
she  had  been  on  her  way  on  this  particular  morning,  and 
for  which  she  had  put  on  that  ethereal  gray  gown  for  the 
first  time.  At  any  rate,  she  relinquished  it  without  a 
second  thought. 

Presently  Lady  Newhaven  dried  her  eyes  and  turned 
impulsively  towards  her. 

The  strata  of  impulsiveness  and  conventional  feeling 
were  always  so  mixed  up  after  one  of  these  emotional  up- 
heavals that  it  was  difficult  to  guess  which  would  come 
uppermost.  Sometimes  fragments  of  both  appeared  on 
the  surface  together. 

"  I  loved  you  from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,"  she 
said.  "I  don't  take  fancies  to  people,  you  know.  I  am 
not  that  kind  of  person.  I  am  very  difficult  to  please, 
and  I  never  speak  of  what  concerns  myself.  I  am  most 
reserved.  I  dare  say  you  have  noticed  how  reserved  I  am. 
I  live  in  my  shell.  But  directly  I  saw  you  I  felt  I  could 
talk  to  you.  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  make  a  friend  of 
that  girl/  Although  I  always  feel  a  married  woman  is  so 
differently  placed  from  a  girl.  A  girl  only  thinks  of  her- 

44 


RED    POTTAGE 

self.  I  am  not  saying  this  the  least  unkindly,  but,  of 
course,  it  is  so.  Now  a  married  woman  has  to  consider 
her  husband  and  family  in  all  she  says  and  does.  How 
will  it  affect  them  ?  That  is  what  I  so  often  say  to  myself, 
and  then  my  lips  are  sealed.  But,  of  course,  being  un- 
married, you  would  not  understand  that  feeling." 

Rachel  did  not  answer.  She  was  inured  to  this  time- 
honored  conversational  opening. 

"  And  the  temptations  of  married  life,"  continued  Lady 
Newhaven — "a  girl  cannot  enter  into  them." 

"Then  do  not  tell  me  about  them,"  said  Rachel,  smil- 
ing, wondering  if  she  might  still  escape.  But  Lady  New- 
haven  had  no  intention  of  letting  her  go.  She  only 
wished  to  indicate  to  hor  her  true  position.  And  gradu- 
ally, not  without  renewed  outbursts  of  tears,  not  without 
traversing  many  layers  of  prepared  conventional  feelings, 
in  which  a  few  thin  streaks  of  genuine  emotion  were  em- 
bedded, she  told  her  story — the  story  of  a  young,  high- 
minded,  and  neglected  wife,  and  of  a  husband  callous,  in- 
different, a  scorner  of  religion,  unsoftened  even  by  the 
advent  of  the  children — "  such  sweet  children,  such  little 
darlings" — and  the  gradual  estrangement.  Then  came 
the  persistent  siege  to  the  lonely  heart  of  one  not  pretty, 
perhaps,  but  fatally  attractive  to  men  ;  the  lonely  heart's 
unparalleled  influence  for  good  over  the  besieger. 

"  He  would  do  anything,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  look- 
ing earnestly  at  Rachel.  "My  influence  over  him  is 
simply  boundless.  If  I  said,  as  I  sometimes  did  at  balls, 
how  sorry  I  was  to  see  some  plain  girl  standing  out,  he 
would  go  and  dance  with  her.  I  have  seen  him  do  it."  , 

"  I  suppose  he  did  it  to  please  you." 

"  That  was  just  it,  simply  to  please  me." 

Rachel  was  not  so  astonished  as  Lady  Newhaven  ex- 
pected. She  certainly  was  rather  wooden,  the  latter  re- 
flected. The  story  went  on.  It  became  difficult  to  tell, 
and,  according  to  the  teller,  more  and  more  liable  to  mis- 
construction. Rachel's  heart  ached  as  bit  by  bit  the  in- 
evitable development  was  finally  reached  in  floods  of  tears. 

45 


RED    POTTAGE 

<e  And  you  remember  that  night  you  were  at  an  even- 
ing party  here,"  sobbed  Lady  Newhaven,  casting  away  all 
her  mental  notes  and  speaking  extemporaneously.  "It 
is  just  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  have  not  slept  since,  and  lie 
was  here,  looking  so  miserable" — (Rachel  started  slightly) 
—"he  sometimes  did,  if  he  thought  I  was  hard  upon 
him.  And  afterwards,  when  every  one  had  gone,  Edward 
took  him  to  his  study  and  told  him  he  had  found  us  out, 
and  they  drew  lots  which  should  kill  himself  within  five 
months — and  I  listened  at  the  door." 

Lady  Newhaven's  voice  rose  half  strangled,  hardly  hu- 
man, in  a  shrill  grotesque  whimper  above  the  sobs  which 
were  shaking  her.  There  was  no  affectation  about  her  now. 

RacheFs  heart  went  out  to  her  the  moment  she  was 
natural.  She  knelt  down  and  put  her  strong  arms  round 
her.  The  poor  thing  clung  to  her,  and,  leaning  her  elabo- 
rate head  against  her,  wept  tears  of  real  anguish  upon  her 
breast. 

<e  And  which  drew  the  short  lighter  ?"said  Rachel  at  last. 

"  I  don't  know,"  almost  shrieked  Lady  Newhaven.  "  It 
is  that  which  is  killing  me.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  Ed- 
ward, and  sometimes  I  think  it  is  Hugh." 

At  the  name  of  Hugh,  Rachel  winced.  Lady  Newhaven 
had  mentioned  110  name  in  the  earlier  stages  of  her  story 
while  she  had  some  vestige  of  self-command  ;  but  now  at 
last  the  Christian  name  slipped  out  unawares. 

Rachel  strove  to  speak  calmly.  She  told  herself  there 
were  many  Hughs  in  the  world. 

"  Is  Mr.  Hugh  Scarlett  the  man  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 
If  she  had  died  for  it,  she  must  have  asked  that  question. 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Newhaven. 

A  shadow  fell  on  Rachel's  face,  as  on  the  face  of  one 
who  suddenly  discovers,  not  for  the  first  time,  an  old 
enemy  advancing  upon  him  under  the  flag  of  a  new  ally. 

"  I  shall  always  love  him,"  gasped  Lady  Newhaven,  re- 
covering herself  sufficiently  to  recall  a  phrase  which  she 
had  made  up  the  night  before.  "I  look  upon  it  as  a 
spiritual  marriage." 

46 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  square-set  man  arid  honest. 

— TENNYSON. 

"DiCK,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  laying  hold  of  that 
gentleman  as  he  was  leaving  TattersalFs,  "  what  mischief 
have  you  been  up  to  for  the  last  ten  days  ?" 

"I  lay  low  till  I  got  my  clothes,"  said  Dick,  "  and  then 

I  went  to  the  Duke  of .     I've  just  been  looking  at  a 

hack  for  him.  He  says  he  does  not  want  one  that  takes  a 
lot  of  sitting  on.  I  met  him  the  first  night  I  landed.  In 
fact,  I  stepped  out  of  the  train  on  to  his  royal  toe  travel- 
ling incog.  I  was  just  going  to  advise  him  to  draw  in  his 
feelers  a  bit  and  give  the  Colonies  a  chance,  when  he 
turned  round  and  I  saw  who  it  was.  I  knew  him  when  I 
was  A.D.O.  at  Melbourne  before  I  took  to  the  drink.  He 
said  he  thought  he'd  know  my  foot  anywhere,  and  asked 
me  down  for races." 

"  And  you  enjoyed  it?" 

"  Rather.  I  did  not  know  what  to  call  the  family  at 
first,  so  I  asked  him  if  he  had  any  preference  and  what 
was  the  right  thir.g,  and  he  told  me  how  I  must  hop  up 
whenever  he  came  in,  and  all  that  sort  of  child's  play.  There 
was  a  large  party  and  some  uncommonly  pretty  women. 
And  I  won  a  tenner  off  his  Royal  Highness,  and  here  I  am." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"  Go  down  to  the  city  and  see  what  Darnell's  cellars  are 
like  before  I  store  my  wine  in  them.  It  won't  take  long. 
Er  ! — I  say,  Cack — Newhaven  ?" 

"Well?" 

"  Ought  I  to — how  about  my  calling  on  Miss — ?  I 
never  caught  her  name." 

47 


RED    POTTAGE 


"  Miss  West,  the  heiress  ?" 

"  Yes.     Little  attention  on  my  part." 


"  Did  she  ask  you  to  call  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  think  it  was  an  oversight.  I  expect  she 
would  like  it." 

"  Well,  then,  go  and  be  —  snubbed." 

"  I  don't  want  snubbing.  A  little  thing  like  me  wants 
encouragement/' 

"A  good  many  other  people  are  on  the  lookout  for  en- 
couragement in  that  quarter." 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Dick;  "  I'll  go  at  once.  I've  got 
to  call  on  Lady  Susan  Guslcy,  and  I'll  take  Miss  —  " 

"  West.     West.     West." 

"Miss  West  on  the  way." 

(  '  My  dear  fellow,  Miss  West  does  not  live  on  the  way  to 
Woking.  Lady  Susan  Gusley  died  six  months  ago." 

"  Great  Scot  !  I  never  heard  of  it.  And  what  has  be- 
come of  Hester  ?  She  is  a  kind  of  cousin  of  mine." 

"Miss  Gusley  has  gone  to  live  in  the  country  a  few 
miles  from  us,  with  her  clergyman  brother." 

"James  Gusley.     I  remember  him.     He's  a  bad  egg." 

"Now,  Dick,  are  you  in  earnest,  or  are  you  talking 
nonsense  about  Miss  West  ?" 

"  I'm  in  earnest."     He  looked  it. 

'  '  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  put  your  foot  in  it  by 
calling.  My  wife  has  taken  a  violent  fancy  to  Miss  West. 
I  don't  think  it  is  returned,  but  that  is  a  detail.  If  you 
want  to  give  her  a  chance,  leave  it  to  me." 

"  I  know  what  that  means.  You  married  men  are  mere 
sieves.  You'll  run  straight  home  with  your  tongue  out 
and  tell  Lady  Newhaven  that  I  want  to  marry  Miss  —  I 
can't  clinch  her  name  —  and  then  she'll  tell  her  when  they 
are  combing  their  back  hair.  And  then  if  I  find,  later 
on,  I  don't  like  her  and  step  off  the  grass,  I  shall  have  be- 
haved like  a  perfect  brute,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  A 
man  I  knew  out  in  Melbourne  told  me  that  by  the  time  he'd 
taken  a  little  notice  of  a  likely  girl,  he'd  gone  too  far  to  go 
back,  and  he  had  to  marry  her." 

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"You  need  not  be  so  coy.  I  don't  intend  to  mention 
the  subject  to  my  wife.  Besides,  I  don't  suppose  Miss 
West  will  look  at  you.  You're  a  wretched  match  for  her. 
With  her  money  she  might  marry  a  brewery  or  a  peerage." 

"  I'll  put  myself  in  focus  anyhow,"  said  Dick.  "  Hang 
it  all !  if  you  could  get  a  woman  to  marry  you,  there  is 
hope  for  everybody.  I  don't  expect  it  will  be  as  easy  as 
falling  off  a  log.  But  if  she  is  what  I  take  her  to  be  I 
shall  go  for  all  I'm  worth." 

Some  one  else  was  going  for  all  he  was  worth.  Lord 
Newhaven  rode  early,  and  he  had  frequently  seen  Rachel 
and  Hugh  riding  together  at  foot's  pace.  Possibly  his 
offer  to  help  Dick  was  partly  prompted  by  an  unconscious 
desire  to  put  a  spoke  in  Hugh's  wheel. 

Dick,  whose  worst  enemy  could  not  accuse  him  of  diffi- 
dence, proved  a  solid  spoke  but  for  a  few  days  only.  Ra- 
chel suddenly  broke  all  her  engagements  and  left  London. 


CHAPTER  IX 
"Pour  vivre  tranquille  il  faut  vivre  loin  des  gens  d'eglise." 

THERE  is  a  little  stream  which  flows  through  Middle- 
shire  which  seems  to  reflect  the  spirit  of  that  quiet  county, 
so  slow  is  its  course,  so  narrow  is  its  width.  Even  the 
roads  don't  take  the  trouble  to  bridge  it.  They  merely 
hump  themselves  slightly  when  they  feel  it  tickling  under- 
neath them,  and  go  on,  vouchsafing  no  further  notice  of 
its  existence.  Yet  the  Drone  is  a  local  celebrity  in  Mid- 
dleshire,  and,  like  most  local  celebrities,  is  unknown  else- 
where. The  squire's  sons  have  lost  immense  trout  in  the 
Drone  as  it  saunters  through  their  lands,  and  most  of 
them  have  duly  earned  thereby  the  distinction  (in  Middle- 
shire)  of  being  the  best  trout -rod  in  England.  Middle- 
shire  bristles  with  the  "  best  shots  in  England"  and  the 
"best  preachers  in  England"  and  the  cleverest  men  in 
England.  The  apathetic  mother-country  knows,  accord- 
ing to  Middleshire,  "but  little  of  her  greatest  men."  At 
present  she  associates  her  loyal  county  with  a  breed  of 
small  black  pigs. 

Through  this  favored  locality  the  Drone  winds,  and 
turns  and  turns  again,  as  if  loath  to  leave  the  rich,  low 
meadow-lands  and  clustering  villages  upon  its  way.  After 
skirting  the  little  town  of  Westhope  and  the  gardens  of 
Westhope  Abbey,  the  Drone  lays  itself  out  in  comfortable 
curves  and  twists  innumerable  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  green  country  till  it  reaches  Warpington, 
whose  church  is  so  near  the  stream  that  in  time  of  flood 
the  water  hitches  all  kinds  of  things  it  has  no  further  use 
for  among  the  grave-stones  of  the  little  church-yard.  On 
one  occasion,  after  repeated  prayers  for  rain,  it  even  over- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

flowed  the  lower  part  of  the  vicar's  garden,  and  vindic- 
tively carried  away  his  bee-hives.  But  that  was  before  he 
built  the  little  wall  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 

Slightly  raised  above  the  church,  on  ground  held  to- 
gether by  old  elms,  the  white  vicarage  of  Warpington 
stands,  blinking  ever  through  its  trees  at  the  church  like 
a  fond  wife  at  her  husband.  Indeed,  so  like  had  she  be- 
come to  him  that  she  had  even  developed  a  tiny  bell-tower 
near  the  kitchen  chimney,  with  a  single  bell  in  it,  feebly 
rung  by  a  female  servant  on  saints'  days  and  G.F.S. 
gatherings. 

About  eight  o'clock  on  this  particular  morning  in  July 
the  Drone  could  hear,  if  it  wanted  to  hear,  which  appar- 
ently no  one  else  did,  the  high,  unmodulated  voice  in 
which  Mr.  Gusley  was  reading  the  morning  service  to  Mrs. 
Gusley  and  to  a  young  thrush,  which  was  hurling  its  per- 
son, like  an  inexperienced  bicyclist,  now  against  Lazarus 
and  his  grave-clothes,  now  against  the  legs  of  John  the 
Baptist,  with  one  foot  on  a  river's  edge  and  the  other 
firmly  planted  in  a  distant  desert,  and  against  all  the  other 
Scripture  characters  in  turn  which  adorned  the  windows. 

The  service  ended  at  last,  and,  after  releasing  his  un- 
willing congregation  by  catching  and  carrying  it,  beak 
agape,  into  the  open  air,  Mr.  Gusley  and  his  wife  walked 
through  the  church-yard — with  its  one  melancholy  Scotch 
fir,  embarrassed  by  its  trouser  of  ivy — to  the  little  gate 
which  led  into  their  garden. 

They  were  a  pleasing  couple,  seen  at  a  little  distance. 
He,  at  least,  evidently  belonged  to  a  social  status  rather 
above  that  of  the  average  clergyman,  though  his  wife  may 
not  have  done  so.  Mr.  Gusley,  with  his  long,  thin  nose 
and  his  short  upper  lip  and  tall,  well-set-up  figure,  bore 
on  his  whole  personality  the  stamp  of  that  for  which  it  is 
difficult  to  find  the  right  name,  so  unmeaning  has  the 
right  name  become  by  dint  of  putting  it  to  low  uses — the 
maltreated,  the  travestied  name  of  "gentleman." 

None  of  those  moral  qualities,  priggish  or  otherwise, 
are  assumed  for  Mr.  Gusley  which,  we  are  told,  distinguish 

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the  true,  the  perfect  gentleman,  and  some  of  which, 
thank  Heaven  !  the  "gentleman  born"  frequently  lacks. 
Whether  he  had  them  or  not  was  a  matter  of  opinion,  but 
he  had  that  which  some  who  have  it  not  strenuously  affirm 
to  be  of  no  value — the  right  outside. 

To  any  one  who  looked  beyond  the  first  impression  of 
good-breeding  and  a  well-cut  coat,  a  second  closer  glance 
was  discouraging.  Mr.  Gusley's  suspicious  eye  and  thin, 
compressed  lips  hinted  that  both  fanatic  and  saint  were 
fighting  for  predominance  in  the  kingdom  of  that  pinched 
brain,  the  narrowness  of  which  the  sloping  forehead  be- 
tokened with  such  cruel  plainness.  He  looked  as  if  he 
would  fling  himself  as  hard  against  a  truth  without  per- 
ceiving it  as  a  hunted  hare  against  a  stone -wall.  He 
was  unmistakably  of  those  who  only  see  side  issues. 

Mrs.  Gusley  took  her  husband's  arm  as  he  closed  the 
gate.  She  was  still  young  and  still  pretty,  in  spite  of  the 
arduous  duties  of  a  clergyman's  wife,  and  the  depressing 
fact  that  she  seemed  always  wearing  out  old  finery.  Per- 
haps her  devotion  to  her  husband  had  served  to  prolong 
her  youth,  for  as  the  ivy  is  to  the  oak,  and  as  the  moon  is 
to  the  sun,  and  as  the  river  is  to  the  sea,  so  was  Mrs. 
Gusley  to  Mr.  Gusley. 

The  fortunate  couple  were  advancing  through  the 
garden,  looking  fondly  at  their  own  vicarage,  with  their 
own  sponges  hanging  out  of  their  upper  windows,  and 
their  offspring  waving  to  them  from  a  third,  when  a  small, 
slight  figure  appeared  on  the  terrace. 

"James,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  with  decision,  "it  is  your 
duty  to  speak  to  Hester  about  attending  early  service.  If 
she  can  go  out  in  the  garden  she  can  come  to  church." 

"I  have  spoken  to  her  once,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  frown- 
ing, "and  though  I  put  it  before  her  very  plainly  she 
showed  great  obstinacy.  Fond  as  I  am  of  Hester,  I  cannot 
shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  she  has  an  arrogant  and  cal- 
lous nature.  But  we  must  remember,  my  love,  that  Aunt 
Susan  was  most  lax  in  all  her  views,  and  we  must  make 
allowance  for  Hester,  who  lived  with  her  till  last  year.  It 

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RED    POTTAGE 

is  only  natural  that  Hester,  bred  up  from  childhood  in 
that  worldly  circle — dinner-parties  all  through  Lent,  and 
Sunday  luncheons — should  have  fallen  through  want  of 
solid  church  teaching  into  freethinking  and  ideas  of  her 
own  upon  religion." 

Mr.  Gusley's  voice  was  of  that  peculiar  metallic  note 
which  carries  farther  than  the  owner  is  aware.  It  rose,  if 
contradicted,  into  a  sort  of  continuous  trumpet-blast 
which  drowned  all  other  lesser  voices.  Hester's  little 
garret  was  two  stories  above  Mr.  Gusley's  study  on  the 
ground  floor,  but,  nevertheless,  she  often  heard  confused, 
anxious  parochial  buzzings  overwhelmed  by  that  sustained 
high  note  which  knew  no  cessation  until  objection  or  op- 
position ceased.  As  she  came  towards  them,  she  heard 
with  perfect  distinctness  what  he  was  saying,  but  it  did 
not  trouble  her.  Hester  was  gifted  with  imagination,  and 
imagination  does  not  find  it  difficult  to  read  by  the  short- 
hand of  the  expressions  and  habitual  opinions  and  repres- 
sions of  others  what  they  occasionally  say  at  full  length, 
and  to  which  they  fondly  believe  they  are  giving  utterance 
for  the  first  time.  Mr.  Gusley  had  said  all  this  many 
times  already  by  his  manner,  and  it  had  by  its  vain  repe- 
titions lost  its  novelty.  Mr.  Gusley  was  fortunately  not 
aware  of  this,  for  unimaginative  persons  believe  them- 
selves to  be  sealed  books,  as  hermetically  sealed  as  the 
characters  of  others  are  to  themselves. 

Hester  was  very  like  her  brother.  She  had  the  same 
nose,  slightly  too  long  for  her  small  face,  the  same  short 
upper  lip  and  light  hair,  only  her  brother's  was  straight 
and  hers  was  crimped,  as  wet  sand  is  crimped  by  a  placid 
outgoing  sea.  That  she  had  an  equally  strong  will  was 
obvious.  But  there  the  likeness  ended.  Hester's  figure 
was  slight,  and  she  stooped  a  little.  Hester's  eyes  were 
very  gentle,  very  appealing  under  their  long,  curled  lashes. 
They  were  sad,  too,  as  Mr.  Gusley's  never  were,  gay  as  his 
never  were.  An  infinite  patience  looked  out  of  them 
sometimes,  that  patience  of  enthusiasm  which  will  cast 
away  its  very  soul  and  all  its  best  years  for  the  sake  of  an 

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RED    POTTAGE 

ideal.  Hester  showed  her  age  in  her  eyes.  She  was  seven- 
and- twenty,  and  appeared  many  years  younger  until  she 
looked  at  you. 

Mrs.  Gusley  looked  with  veiled  irritation  at  her  sister- 
in-law  in  her  clean  holland  gown,  held  in  at  the  waist  with 
a  broad  lilac  ribbon,  adroitly  drawn  in  picturesque  folds 
through  a  little  silver  buckle. 

Mrs.  Gusley,  who  had  a  waist  which  the  Southminster 
dress-maker  informed  her  had  "to  be  kept  down,"  made  a 
mental  note  for  the  hundredth  time  that  Hester  "laced 
in." 

Hester  gave  that  impression  of  "  finish  "  and  sharpness 
of  edge  so  rarely  found  among  the  blurred,  vague  outlines 
of  English  women.  There  was  nothing  vague  about  her. 
Lord  Newhaven  said  she  had  been  cut  out  body  and  mind 
with  a  sharp  pair  of  scissors.  Her  irregular  profile,  her 
delicate,  pointed  speech  and  fingers,  her  manner  of  picking 
up  her  slender  feet  as  she  walked,  her  quick,  alert  move- 
ments— everything  about  her  was  neat,  adjusted,  perfect  in 
its  way,  yet  without  more  apparent  effort  than  the  succes 
fou  in  black  and  white  of  the  water  wagtail,  which  she  so 
closely  resembled. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  turning  back  with  them  to 
the  house.  "Abel  says  it  is  going  to  be  the  hottest  day 
we  have  had  yet.  And  the  letter-bag  is  so  fat  that  I  could 
hardly  refrain  from  opening  it.  Eeally,  James,  you  ought 
to  hide  the  key,  or  I  shall  succumb  to  temptation." 

Once  in  the  days  of  her  ignorance,  when  she  first  came 
to  live  at  Warpington,  Hester  had  actually  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock  of  the  sacred  letter-bag  when  the  Gusley's 
were  both  late,  and  had  extracted  her  own  letters.  She 
never  did  it  a  second  time.  On  the  contrary,  she  begged 
pardon  in  real  regret  at  having  given  such  deep  offence  to 
her  brother  and  his  wife,  and  in  astonishment  that  so 
simple  an  action  could  offend.  She  had  made  an  equally 
distressing  blunder  in  the  early  days  of  her  life  with  the 
Gusleys  by  taking  up  the  daily  paper  on  its  arrival  in  the 
afternoon. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  My  dear  Hester,"  Mrs.  Gusley  said,  really  scandal- 
ized, "  I  am  sure  you  won't  mind  my  saying  so,  but  James 
has  not  seen  his  paper  yet." 

"I  have  noticed  he  never  by  any  chance  looks  at  it  till 
the  evening,  and  yon  always  say  yon  never  read  it,"  said 
Hester,  deep  in  a  political  crisis. 

"  That  is  his  rnie,  and  a  very  good  rule  it  is ;  but  he 
naturally  likes  to  be  the  first  to  look  at  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gus- 
ley,  with  a  great  exercise  of  patience.  She  had  heard 
Hester  was  clever,  but  she  found  her  very  stupid.  Every- 
thing had  to  be  explained  to  her. 

Her  tone  recalled  Hester  from  the  Indian  tribal  rising 
and  the  speech  of  the  Prime  Minister  to  the  realities  of 
life.  It  was  fortunate  for  her  that  she  was  quick-witted. 
These  two  flagrant  blunders  were  sufficient  for  her.  She 
grasped  the  principle  that  those  who  have  a  great  love  of 
power  and  little  scope  for  it  must  necessarily  exercise  it  in 
trivial  matters.  She  extended  the  principle  of  the  news- 
paper and  the  letter-bag  over  her  entire  intercourse  with 
the  Gusleys,  and  never  offended  in  that  manner  again. 

On  this  particular  morning  she  waited  decorously  beside 
her  brother  as  he  opened  the  bag  and  dealt  out  the  con- 
tents into  three  heaps.  Hester  pounced  on  hers  and  sub- 
sided into  her  chair  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  looking  at  Hester's  pile 
of  letters  over  the  top  of  her  share  of  the  morning's  cor- 
respondence —  namely,  a  list  of  Pryce  Jones — "  that  you 
care  to  write  so  many  letters,  Hester.  I  am  sure  I  never 
did  such  a  thing  when  I  was  a  girl.  I  should  have  re- 
garded it  as  a  waste  of  time." 

"Ha !"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  in  a  gratified  tone,  opening  a 
little  roll.  <f  What  have  we  here  ?  Proofs  !  My  paper 
upon  '  Modern  Dissent/  I  told  Edwards  I  would  not  al- 
low him  to  put  it  in  his  next  number  of  the  Southminster 
Advertiser  until  I  had  glanced  at  it  in  print.  I  don't 
know  when  I  shall  find  time  to  correct  it.  I  shall  be  out 
all  the  afternoon  at  the  chapter  meeting." 

He  looked  at  Hester.  She  had  laid  down  her  letters 

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RED    POTTAGE 

and  was  taking  a  cup  of  coffee  from  Mrs.  Gusley.     She 
evidently  had  not  heard  her  brother's  remark. 

"  You  and  I  must  lay  our  heads  together  over  this,  Hes- 
ter/' he  said,  holding  up  with  some  pride  a  long  slip  of 
proof.  "It  will  be  just  in  your  line.  You  might  run  it 
over  after  breakfast/'  he  continued,  in  high  good-humor, 
"  and  put  in  the  stops  and  grammar  and  spelling  —  you're 
more  up  in  that  sort  of  thing  than  I  am — and  then  we 
will  go  through  it  together/' 

Hester  was  quite  accustomed,  when  her  help  was  asked 
as  to  a  composition,  to  receive  as  a  reason  for  the  request 
the  extremely  gratifying  assurance  that  she  was  "  good" 
at  punctuation  and  spelling.  It  gave  the  would-be  au- 
thor a  comfortable  feeling  that,  after  all,  he  was  only  asking 
advice  on  the  crudest  technical  matters  on  which  Hester's 
superiority  could  be  admitted  without  a  loss  of  masculine 
self-respect. 

"  I  would  rather  not  tamper  with  punctuation  and 
spelling,"  said  Hester,  dryly.  "  I  am  so  shaky  on  both 
myself.  You  had  better  ask  the  school-master.  He  knows 
all  that  sort  of  A  B  C  better  than  I  do." 

Mr.  Gusley  frowned,  and  looked  suspiciously  at  her.  He 
wanted  Hester's  opinion,  of  which  she  was  perfectly  aware. 
But  she  intended  that  he  should  ask  for  it. 

Mrs.  Gusley,  behind  the  coffee-pot,  felt  that  she  was 
overlooked.  She  had  helped  Mr.  Gusley  with  his  numer- 
ous literary  efforts  until  Hester  came. 

"  I  saw  you  correcting  some  one's  manuscript  last 
week,"  he  said.  "  You  were  at  it  all  day  in  the  hay-field." 

"  That  was  different.  I  was  asked  to  criticise  the  style 
and  composition." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "don't  let  us  split  hairs. 
I  don't  want  an  argument  about  it.  If  you'll  come  into 
my  study  at  ten  o'clock  I'll  get  it  off  my  hands  at  once." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Hester,  looking  at  him  with  rue- 
ful admiration.  She  had  tried  a  hundred  times  to  get  the 
better  of  him  in  conversation,  but  she  had  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded. 

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UED    POTTAGE 

"I  have  a  message  for  you,"  continued  Mr.  Gusley,  in 
restored  good-humor.  "Mrs.  Loftus  writes  that  she  is 
returning  to  Wilderleigh  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  that 
the  sale  of  work  may  take  place  in  the  Wilderleigh  gar- 
dens at  the  end  of  August.  And — let  me  see,  I  will  read 
what  she  says  : 

"  '  I  am  not  unmindful  of  our  conversation  on  the  duty 
of  those  who  go  annually  to  London  to  bring  a  spiritual 
influence  to  bear  on  society' — ("I  impressed  that  upon 
her  before  she  went  up/') — '  We  had  a  most  interesting 
dinner-party  last  week,  nearly  all  celebrated  and  gifted 
persons,  and  the  conversation  was  really  beyond  anything 
I  can  describe  to  you.  I  thought  my  poor  brain  would 
turn.  I  was  quite  afraid  to  join  in.  But  Mr.  Hervey — 
the  great  Mr.  Hervey — told  me  afterwards  I  was  at  my 
best.  One  lady,  Miss  Barker,  who  has  done  so  much  for 
the  East  End,  is  coming  down  to  Wilderleigh  shortly  for 
a  rest.  I  am  anxious  you  should  talk  to  her.  She  says 
she  has  doubts,  and  she  is  tired  of  the  Bible.  By  the  way, 
please  tell  Hester,  with  my  love,  that  she  and  Mr.  Hervey 
attacked  The  Idyll  of  East  London,  and  showed  it  up 
entirely,  and  poor  little  me  had  to  stand  up  for  her 
against  them  all/" 

"  She  would  never  do  that,"  said  Hester,  tranquilly. 
"  She  might  perhaps  have  said,  ( The  writer  is  a  friend  of 
mine.  I  must  stand  up  for  her/  But  she  would  never 
have  gone  beyond  saying  it  to  doing  it." 

"  Hester,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gusley,  feeling  that  she 
might  just  as  well  have  remained  a  spinster  if  she  was  to 
be  thus  ignored  in  her  own  house,  "I  can't  think  how 
you  can  allow  your  jealousy  of  Sybell  Loftus,  for  I  can 
attribute  it  to  nothing  else,  to  carry  you  so  far." 

"  Perhaps  it  had  better  carry  me  into  the  garden,"  said 
Hester,  rising  with  the  others.  "  You  must  forgive  me 
if  I  spoke  irritably.  I  have  a  racking  headache." 

"  She  looks  ill,"  said  her  brother,  following  Hester's 
figure  with  affectionate  solicitude,  as  she  passed  the  win- 
dow a  moment  later. 

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"  And  yet  she  does  next  to  nothing,"  said  the  hard- 
worked  little  wife,  intercepting  the  glance.  "I  always 
thought  she  wrote  her  stories  in  the  morning.  I  know 
she  is  never  about  if  the  Pratt  girls  call  to  see  her  be- 
fore luncheon.  Yet  when  I  ran  up  to  her  room  yesterday 
morning  to  ask  her  to  take  Mary's  music,  as  Fratilein  had 
the  headache" — (Mrs.  Gusley  always  spoke  of  "the  head- 
ache" and  "the  toothache") — "she  was  lying  on  her  bed 
doing  nothing  at  all." 

"  She  is  very  unaccountable,"  said  Mr.  Gusley.  "  Still, 
I  can  make  allowance  for  the  artistic  temperament?  I  share 
it  to  a  certain  degree.  Poor  Hester.  She  is  a  spoiled  child." 

"Indeed,  James,  she  is.  And  she  has  an  enormous 
opinion  of  herself.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  Bishop  is 
to  blame  for  making  so  much  of  her.  Have  you  never 
noticed  how  different  she  is  when  he  is  here,  so  gay  and 
talkative,  and  when  we  are  alone  she  hardly  says  a  word 
for  days  together,  except  to  the  children  ?" 

"She  talked  more  when  she  first  came,"  said  Mr.  Gus- 
ley. "But  when  she  found  I  made  it  a  rule  to  discour- 
age argument" — (by  argument  Mr.  Gusley  meant  differ- 
ence of  opinion) — "  she  seemed  gradually  to  lose  interest 
in  conversation.  Yet  I  have  heard  the  Bishop  speak  of 
her  as  a  brilliant  talker.  And  Lord  Newhaven  asked  me 
last  spring  how  I  liked  having  a  celebrity  for  a  sister.  A 
celebrity  !  Why,  half  the  people  in  Middleshire  don't 
even  know  of  Hester's  existence."  And  the  author  of 
"Modern  Dissent"  frowned. 

"That  was  a  hit  at  you^  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley. 
"It  was  just  after  your  pamphlet  on  ' Schism'  appeared. 
Lord  Newhaven  always  says  something  disagreeable. 
Don't  you  remember,  when  you  were  thinking  of  ex- 
changing Warpington  for  that  Scotch  living,  he  said  he 
knew  you  would  not  do  it  because  with  your  feeling  tow- 
ards Dissent  you  would  never  go  to  a  country  where  you 
would  be  a  Dissenter  yourself  ?" 

"How  about  the  proofs?"  said  Hester,  through  the 
open  window.  "  I  am  ready  when  you  are,  James," 

58 


CHAPTER  X 

Wonderful  power  to  benumb  possesses  this  brother. 

— EMERSON. 

"  OF  course,  Hester,"  said  Mr.  Gnsley,  leading  the  way 
to  his  study  and  speaking  in  his  lesson-for-the-day  voice, 
"I  don't  pretend  to  write"  —  ("They  always  say  that/' 
thought  Hester) — "  I  have  not  sufficient  leisure  to  devote 
to  the  subject  to  insure  becoming  a  successful  author. 
And  even  if  I  had  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  be  willing  to 
sell  my  soul  to  obtain  popularity,  for  that  is  what  it 
comes  to  in  these  days.  The  public  must  be  pandered  to. 
It  must  be  amused.  The  public  likes  smooth  things,  and 
the  great  truths — the  only  things  I  should  care  to  write 
about — are  not  smooth,  far  from  it." 

"  No,  indeed." 

' '  This  little  paper  on  '  Dissent/  which  I  propose  to 
publish  in  pamphlet  form  after  its  appearance  as  a  serial — 
it  will  run  to  two  numbers  in  the  Soutliminster  Advertiser 
— was  merely  thrown  off  in  a  few  days  when  I  had  influ- 
enza, and  could  not  attend  to  my  usual  work." 

"It  must  be  very  difficult  to  work  in  illness,"  said 
Hester,  who  had  evidently  made  a  vo*y  during  her  brief 
sojourn  in  the  garden,  and  was  now  obviously  going 
through  that  process  which  the  society  of  some  of  our 
fellow-creatures  makes  as  necessary  as  it  is  fatiguing — 
namely,  that  of  thinking  beforehand  what  we  are  going 
to  say. 

Mr.  Gusley  liked  Hester  immensely  when  she  had 
freshly  ironed  herself  flat  under  one  of  these  resolutions. 
He  was  wont  to  say  that  no  one  was  pleasanter  than  Hes- 
ter when  she  was  reasonable,  or  made  more  suitable  re- 

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marks.  He  perceived  with  joy  that  she  was  reasonable 
now,  and  the  brother  and  sister  sat  down  close  together  at 
the  writing-table  with  the  printed  sheets  between  them. 

"I  will  read  aloud,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "and  you  can 
follow  me,  and  stop  me  if  you  think — er — the  sense  is  not 
quite  clear." 

"  I  see." 

The  two  long  noses,  the  larger  freckled  one  surmounted 
by  a,  pince-nez,  the  other  slightly  pink,  as  if  it  had  absorbed 
the  tint  of  the  blotting-paper  over  which  it  was  so  contin- 
ually poised,  both  bent  over  the  sheets. 

Through  the  thin  wall  which  separated  the  school-room 
from  the  study  came  the  sound  of  Mary's  scales.  Mary 
was  by  nature  a  child  of  wrath,  as  far  as  music  was  con- 
cerned, and  Fratilein —  anxious,  musical  Fraiilein — was 
strenuously  endeavoring  to  impart  to  her  pupil  the  rudi- 
ments of  what  was  her  chief  joy  in  life. 

"' Modern  Dissent/"  read  aloud  Mr.  Gusley,  "by 
Veritas." 

"  Veritas!"  repeated  Hester.  Astonishment  jerked  the 
word  out  of  her  before  she  was  aware.  She  pulled  her- 
self hastily  together. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  author,  looking  at  his  sister 
through  his  glasses,  which  made  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
look  as  large  as  the  striped  marbles  on  which  Mary  and 
Kegie  spent  their  pennies.  "  Veritas,"  he  continued,  "is 
a  Latin  word  signifying  Truth." 

"  So  I  fancied.  But  is  not  Truth  rather  a  large  name 
to  adopt  as  a  nom  de  plume  9  Might  it  not  seem  rather — 
er — in  a  layman  it  would  appear  arrogant." 

"I  am  not  a  layman,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  write  on 
subjects  of  which  I  am  ignorant,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  with 
dignity.  "  This  is  not  a  work  of  fiction.  I  don't  imagine 
this,  or  fancy  that,  or  invent  the  other.  I  merely  place 
before  the  public,  forcibly,  and  in  a  novel  manner,  a  few 
great  truths." 

Mary  was  doing  her  finger  exercises.  "0,  C,  C,  with 
the  thumb ;  D,  D,  D,  with  the  first  finger,"  Fraulein  was 

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repeating.  "Won!  two!  free!  Won!  two!  free!"  with 
a  new  intonation  of  cheerful  patience  at  each  repetition. 

"  Ah  I"  said  Hester.  "  A  few  great  truths.  Then  the 
name  must  be  'Veritas/  You  would  not  reconsider  it?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  his  eye  challenging 
hers.  "It  is  the  name  I  am  known  by  as  the  author  of 
'Schism/" 

"I  had  momentarily  forgotten  ' Schism/"  said  Hester, 
dropping  her  glance. 

"  I  went  through  a  good  deal  of  obloquy  about '  Schism/  " 
said  Mr.  Gusley  with  pride,  "and  I  should  not  wonder  if 
'  Modern  Dissent '  caused  quite  a  ferment  in  Middleshire. 
If  it  does,  I  am  willing  to  bear  a  little  spite  and  ill-will. 
All  history  shows  that  truth  is  met  at  first  by  opposition. 
Half  the  country  clergy  round  here  are  asleep.  Good 
men,  but  lax.  They  want  waking  up.  I  said  as  much  to 
the  Bishop  the  other  day,  and  he  agreed  with  me  ;  for  he 
said  that  if  some  of  his  younger  clergy  could  be  waked 
up  to  a  sense  of  their  orwn  arrogance  and  narrowness  he 
would  hold  a  public  thanksgiving  in  the  cathedral.  But 
he  added  that  he  thought  nothing  short  of  the  last  trump 
would  do  it." 

"  I  agree  with  him/'  said  Hester,  having  first  said  the 
sentence  to  herself,  and  having  decided  it  was  innocuous. 

The  climax  of  the  music-lesson  had  arrived.  "  The 
Blue  Bells  of  Scotland" — the  sole  Clavier  Stuck  which 
Mary's  rigidly  extended  little  starfishes  of  hands  could 
wrench  out  of  the  school-room  piano — was  at  its  third  bar. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  refreshed  by  a  cheering  ret- 
rospect. "Now  for  'Modern  Dissent/ ': 

A  strenuous  hour  ensued. 

Hester  was  torn  in  different  directions,  at  one  moment 
tempted  to  allow  the  most  flagrant  passages  to  pass  un- 
challenged rather  than  attempt  the  physical  impossibility 
of  interrupting  the  reader  only  to  be  drawn  into  a  dispute 
with  him,  at  another  burning  to  save  her  brother  from  the 
consequences  which  wait  on  certain  utterances. 

Presently  Mr.  Gusley's  eloquence,  after  various  tortuous 

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and  unnatural  windings,  swept  in  the  direction  of  a  pun, 
as  a  carriage  after  following  the  artificial  curves  of  a 
deceptive  approach  nears  a  villa.  Hester  had  seen  the 
pun  coming  for  half  a  page,  as  we  see  the  villa  through 
the  trees  long  before  we  are  allowed  to  approach  it,  and 
she  longed  to  save  her  brother  from  what  was  in  her  eyes 
as  much  a  degradation  as  a  tu  quoque.  But  she  remem- 
bered in  time  that  the  Gusleys  considered  she  had  no 
sense  of  humor,  and  she  decided  to  let  it  pass.  Mr. 
Gusley  enjoyed  it  so  much  himself  that  he  hardly  noticed 
her  fixed  countenance. 

Why  does  so  deep  a  gulf  separate  those  who  have  a 
sense  of  humor  and  those  who,  having  none,  are  com- 
pensated by  the  conviction  that  they  possess  it  more 
abundantly  ?  The  crevasse  seems  to  extend  far  inland  to 
the  very  heights  and  water-sheds  of  character.  Those  who 
differ  on  humor  will  differ  on  principles.  The  Gusleys 
and  the  Pratts  belonged  to  that  large  class  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  who,  conscious  of  a  genius  for  adding  to  the 
hilarity  of  our  sad  planet,  discover  an  irresistible  piquancy 
in  putting  a  woman's  hat  on  a  man's  head,  and  in  that 
"  verbal  romping  "  which  playfully  designates  a  whiskey- 
and-soda  as  a  gargle,  and  says  "au  reservoir"  instead  of 
"au  revoir." 

At  last,  however,  Hester  nervously  put  her  hand  over 
the  next  sheet,  as  he  read  the  final  words  of  the  last. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "This  last  page, 
James.  Might  it  not  be  well  to  reconsider  it  ?  Is  it 
politic  to  assume  such  great  ignorance  on  the  part  of 
Nonconformists  ?  Many  I  know  are  better  educated  than 
I  am." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "  ignorance  is  at  the  root 
of  any  difference  of  opinion  on  such  a  subject  as  this.  I  do 
not  say  wilful  ignorance,  but  the  want  of  sound  Church 
teaching.  I  must  cut  at  the  roots  of  this  ignorance." 

"Dear  James,  it  is  thrice  killing  the  slain.  No  one  be- 
lieves these  fallacies  which  you  are  exposing — the  Non- 
conformists least  of  all.  Those  I  have  talked  with  don't 

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RED    POTTAGE 

hold  these  absurd  opinions  that  you  put  down  to  them. 
You  don't  even  touch  their  real  position.  You  are  elab- 
orately knocking  down  ninepins  that  have  never  stood  up, 
because  they  have  nothing  to  stand  on." 

"  I  am  not  proposing  to  play  a  game  of  mental  skittles," 
said  the  clerical  author.  "  It  is  enough  for  me,  as  I  said 
before,  to  cut  at  the  roots  of  ignorance  wherever  I  see  it 
flourishing,  not  to  pull  off  the  leaves  one  by  one  as  you 
would  have  me  do  by  dissecting  their  opinions.  This 
may  not  be  novel,  it  may  not  even  be  amusing,  but,  never- 
theless, Hester,  a  clergyman's  duty  is  to  wage  unceasing 
war  against  spiritual  ignorance.  And  what,"  read  on  Mr. 
Gusley,  after  a  triumphant  moment  in  which  Hester  re- 
mained silent,  "  is  the  best  means  of  coping  against  igno- 
rance, against  darkness" — ("It  was  a  root  a  moment  ago," 
thought  Hester)—"  but  by  the  infusion  of  light  ?  The 
light  shineth  in  darkness,  and  the  darkness  cornpre- 
hendeth  it  not."  Half  a  page  more  and  the  darkness 
was  '  Modern  Dissent/  Hester  put  her  hand  over  her 
mouth  and  kept  it  there. 

The  familiar  drama  of  a  clerical  bull  and  a  red  rag  was 
played  out  before  her  eyes,  and,  metaphorically  speaking, 
she  followed  the  example  of  the  majority  of  laymen  and 
crept  up  a  tree  to  be  out  of  the  way. 

When  it  was  all  over  she  came  down  trembling. 

"  Well !  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Gusley, 
rising  and  pacing  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  You  hit  very  hard,"  said  Hester,  after  a  moment's 
consideration.  She  did  not  say,  "You  strike  home." 

e '  I  have  no  opinion  of  being  mealy-mouthed,"  said  Mr. 
Gusley,  who  was  always  perfectly  satisfied  with  a  vague 
statement.  "If  you  have  anything  worth  saying,  say  it 
plainly.  That  is  my  motto.  Don't  hint  this  or  that,  but 
take  your  stand  upon  a  truth  and  strike  out." 

"Why  not  hold  out  our  hands  to  our  fellow-creatures 
instead  of  striking  at  them  ?"  said  Hester,  moving  towards 
the  door. 

"I  have  no  belief  in  holding  out  our  hands  to  the 

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RED    POTTAGE 

enemies  of  Christ,"  Mr.  Gusley  began,  who  in  the  course 
of  his  pamphlet  had  thus  gracefully  designated  the  great 
religious  bodies  who  did  not  view  Christianity  through 
the  convex  glasses  of  his  own  mental  pince-nez.  "  In  these 
days  we  see  too  much  of  that.  I  leave  that  to  the  Broad 
Church,  who  want  to  run  with  the  hare  and  hunt  with  the 
hounds.  I,  on  the  contrary — 

But  Hester  had  vanished. 

There  was  a  dangerous  glint  in  her  gray  eyes,  as  she  ran 
np  to  her  little  attic. 

"According  to  him,  our  Lord  must  have  been  the  first 
Nonconformist,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  If  I  had  stayed  a 
moment  longer  I  should  have  said  so.  For  once  I  got 
out  of  the  room  in  time." 

Hester's  attic  was  blisteringly  hot.  It  was  over  the 
kitchen,  and  through  the  open  window  came  the  pene- 
trating aroma  of  roast  mutton  newly  wedded  to  boiled 
cabbage.  Hester  had  learned  during  the  last  six  months 
all  the  variations  of  smells,  evil,  subtle,  nauseous,  and 
overpowering,  of  which  the  preparation  of  food — and,  still 
worse,  the  preparation  of  chicken  food — is  capable.  She 
seized  her  white  hat  and  umbrella  and  fled  out  of  the 
house. 

She  moved  quickly  across  a  patch  of  sunlight,  looking, 
with  her  large  white,  pink-lined  umbrella,  like  a  travelling 
mushroom  on  a  slender  stem,  and  only  drew  rein  in  the 
shady  walk  near  the  beehives,  where  the  old  gardener, 
Abel,  was  planting  something  large  in  the  way  of  "  run- 
ners" or  "suckers,"  making  a  separate  hole  for  each  with 
his  thumb. 

Abel  was  a  solid,  pear-shaped  man,  who  passed  through 
life  bent  double  over  the  acre  of  Vicarage  garden,  to  which 
he  committed  long  lines  of  seeds,  which  an  attentive 
Providence  brought  up  in  due  season  as  "  curly  kebbidge" 
or  "salary"  or  "sparrow-grass." 

Abel  had  his  back  towards  Hester,  and  only  the  cordu- 
roy half  of  him  was  visible  as  he  stooped  over  his  work. 
Occasionally  he  could  be  induced  to  straighten  himself, 

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and — holding  himself  strongly  at  the  hinge  with  earth- 
ingrained  hands — to  discourse  on  politics  and  religion,  and 
to  opine  that  our  policy  in  China  was  "  neither  my  eye 
nor  my  elber."  "The  little  lady/' as  he  called  Hester, 
had  a  knack  of  drawing  out  Abel ;  but  to-day,  as  he  did 
not  see  her,  she  slipped  past  him,  and,  crossing  the  church- 
yard, sat  down  for  a  moment  in  the  porch  to  regain  her 
breath,  under  the  card  of  printed  texts  offered  for  the 
consideration  of  his  flock  by  their  young  pastor. 

"  How  dreadful  is  this  place !  This  is  none  other  but 
the  house  of  God/'  was  the  culling  from  the  Scriptures 
which  headed  the  selection.*  Hester  knew  that  card 
well,  though  she  never  by  any  chance  looked  at  it.  She 
had  offended  her  brother  deeply  by  remonstrating,  or,  as 
he  called  it,  by  "  interfering  in  church  matters/'  when  he 
nailed  it  up.  After  a  few  minutes  she  dropped  over  the 
low  church-yard  wall  into  the  meadow  below,  and  flung 
herself  down  on  the  grass  in  the  short  shadow  of  a  yew 
near  at  hand.  What  little  air  there  was  to  be  had  came 
to  her  across  the  Drone,  together  with  the  sound  of  the 
water  lazily  nudging  the  bank  and  whispering  to  the 
reeds  little  jokelets  which  they  had  heard  a  hundred  times 
before. 

Hester's  irritable  nerves  relaxed.  She  stretched  out  her 
small,  neatly  shod  foot  in  front  of  her,  leaned  her  back 
against  the  wall,  and  presently  could  afford  to  smile. 

"  Dear  James,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  gently  to 
and  fro,  "  I  wish  we  were  not  both  writers,  or,  as  he  calls 
it,  ( dabblers  with  the  pen.'  One  dabbler  in  a  vicarage  is 
quite  enough." 

She  took  out  her  letters  and  read  them.  Only  half  of 
them  had  been  opened. 

' ( I  shall  stay  here  till  the  luncheon  bell  rings,"  she  said, 
as  she  settled  herself  comfortably. 

Kachel's  letter  was  read  last,  on  the  principle  of  keeping 
the  best  to  the  end. 

*  A  card,  headed  by  the  above  text,  was  seen  by  the  writer  in 
August,  1898,  in  the  porch  of  a  country  church. 
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"And  so  she  is  leaving  London — isn't  this  rather  sud- 
den?— and  coming  down  at  once — to-day — no,  yesterday, 
to  Southminster,  to  the  Palace.  And  I  am  to  stay  in 
this  afternoon,  as  she  will  come  over,  and  probably  the 
Bishop  will  come  too.  I  should  be  glad  if  I  were  not  so 
tired/' 

Hester  looked  along  the  white  high  road  which  led  to 
Southminster.  In  the  hot  haze  she  could  just  see  the 
two  ears  of  the  cathedral  pricking  up  through  the  blue. 
Everything  was  very  silent,  so  silent  that  she  could  hear 
the  church  clock  of  Slumberleigh,  two  miles  away^strike 
twelve.  A  whole  hour  before  luncheon ! 

The  miller's  old  white  horse,  with  a  dip  in  his  long  back 
and  a  corresponding  curve  in  his  under  outline,  was  stand- 
ing motionless  in  the  sun,  fast  asleep,  his  front  legs  bent 
like  a  sailor's. 

A  little  bunch  of  red  and  white  cows,  knee-deep  in  the 
water,  were  swishing  off  the  flies  with  the  wet  tufts  of 
the^r  tails.  Hester  watched  their  every  movement.  She 
was  no  longer  afraid  of  cows.  Presently,  as  if  with  one 
consent,  they  all  made  up  their  minds  to  relieve  the 
tedium  of  the  contemplative  life  by  an  exhibition  of  hu- 
mor, and,  scrambling  out  of  the  water,  proceeded  to  can- 
ter along  the  bank  with  stiff  raised  tails,  with  an  artificial 
noose  sustained  with  difficulty  just  above  the  tuft. 

"  How  like  James  and  the  Pratts !"  Hester  said  to  her- 
self, watching  the  grotesque  gambols  and  nudgings  of  the 
dwindling  humorists.  "  It  must  be  very  fatiguing  to  be 
so  comic." 

Hester  had  been  up  since  five  o'clock,  utilizing  the 
quiet  hours  before  the  house  was  astir.  She  was  tired 
out.  A  bumblebee  was  droning  sleepily  near  at  hand. 
The  stream  talked  and  talked  and  talked  about  what  he 
was  going  to  do  when  he  was  a  river.  "  How  tired  the 
banks  must  be  of  listening  to  him !"  thought  Hester,  with 
closed  eyes. 

And  the  world  melted  slowly  away  in  a  delicious  sense 
of  well-being,  from  which  the  next  moment,  as  it  seemed 

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to  her,  she  was  suddenly  awakened  by  Mr.  Gusley's  voice 
near  at  hand. 

"  Hester  !    Hester!    HESTER  !" 

"  Here  !  here  \"  gasped  Hester,  with  a  start,  upsetting 
her  lapf ul  of  letters  as  she  scrambled  hastily  to  her  feet. 

The  young  vicar  drew  near,  and  looked  over  the  church- 
yard wall.  A  large  crumb  upon  his  upper  lip  did  not 
lessen  the  awful  severity  of  his  countenance. 

"  We  have  nearly  finished  luncheon,"  he  observed. 
"  The  servants  could  not  find  you  anywhere.  I  don't 
want  to  be  always  finding  fault,  Hester,  but  I  wish,  for 
your  own  sake  as  well  as  ours,  you  would  be  more  punctual 
at  meals." 

Hester  had  never  been  late  before,  but  she  felt  that  this 
was  not  the  moment  to  remind  her  brother  of  that  fact. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  she  said,  humbly.     "  I  fell  asleep." 

ff  You  fell  asleep  !"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  who  had  been 
wrestling  all  the  morning  with  platitudes  on  ' '  Thy  will  be 
done."  "All  I  can  say,  Hester,  is  that  it  is  unfortunate 
you  have  no  occupation.  I  cannot  believe  it  is  for  the 
good  of  any  of  us  to  lead  so  absolutely  idle  a  life  that  we 
fall  asleep  in  the  morning." 

Hester  made  no  reply. 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  is  as  useless  to  fight  against  the  interpretations  of  ignorance  as 
to  whip  the  fog. — GEORGE  ELIOT. 

THE  children,  who  had  reached  the  pear  stage,  looked 
with  round,  awed  eyes  at  "  Auntie  Hester"  as  she  sat 
down  at  the  luncheon-table  beside  the  black  bottle  which 
marked  her  place.  The  Gusleys  were -ardent  total  ab- 
stainers, and  were  of  opinion  that  Hester's  health  would 
be  greatly  benefited  by  following  their  example.  But 
Hester's  doctor  differed  from  them — he  was  extremely  ob- 
stinate— with  the  result  that  the  Gusleys  were  obliged  to 
tolerate  the  obnoxious  bottle  on  their  very  table.  It  was 
what  Mrs.  Gusley  called  a  "  cross,"  and  Mr.  Gusley  was 
always  afraid  that  the  fact  of  its  presence  might  become 
known  and  hopelessly  misconstrued  in  Warpington  and 
the  world  at  large. 

The  children  knew  that  Hester  was  in  disgrace,  as  she 
vainly  tried  to  eat  the  congealed  slice  of  roast  mutton, 
with  blue  slides  in  it,  which  had  been  put  before  her 
chair  half  an  hour  ago,  when  the  joint  was  sent  out  for 
the  servants' dinner.  The  children  liked  "Auntie  Hes- 
ter," but  without  enthusiasm,  except  Regie,  the  eldest, 
who  loved  her  as  himself.  She  could  tell  them  stories, 
and  make  butterflies  and  horses  and  dogs  out  of  paper, 
but  she  could  never  join  in  their  games,  not  even  in  the 
delightful  new  ones  she  invented  for  them.  She  was  al- 
ways tired  directly.  And  she  would  never  give  them 
rides  on  her  back,  as  the  large,  good-natured  Pratt  girls 
did.  And  she  was  dreadfully  shocked  if  they  did  not  play 
fair,  so  much  so  that  on  one  occasion  Mr.  Gusley  had  to 
interfere,  and  to  remind  her  that  a  game  was  a  game,  and 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  it  would  be  better  to  let  the  children  play  as  they 
liked  than  to  be  perpetually  finding  fault  with  them. 

Perhaps  nothing  in  her  life  at  the  Vicarage  was  a  great- 
er trial  to  Hester  than  to  see  the  rules  of  fair  play  broken 
by  the  children  with  the  connivance  of  their  parents.  Mr. 
Gusley  had  never  been  to  a  public  school,  and  had  thus 
missed  the  A  B  G  of  what  in  its  later  stages  is  called 
"honor."  He  was  an  admirable  hockey-player,  but  he 
was  not  in  request  at  the  frequent  Slumberleigh  matches, 
for  he  never  hit  off  fair,  or  minded  being  told  so. 

"  Auntie  Hester  is  leaving  all  her  fat,"  said  Mary,  sud- 
denly, in  a  shrill  voice,  her  portion  of  pear  held  in  her  left 
cheek  as  she  spoke.  She  had  no  idea  that  she  ought 
not  to  draw  attention  to  the  weaknesses  of  others.  She 
was  only  anxious  to  be  the  first  to  offer  interesting  in- 
formation. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  admiring  her  own 
moderation.  "  Finish  your  pear." 

If  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  in  Hester's 
behavior  that  annoyed  Mrs.  Gusley — and  there  were  sev- 
eral others — it  was  Hester's  manner  of  turning  her  food 
over  on  her  plate  and  leaving  half  of  it. 

Hester  did  it  again  now,  and  Mrs.  Gusley,  already  ir- 
ritated by  her  unpunctuality,  tried  to  look  away  so  as  not 
to  see  her,  and  prayed  for  patience.  The  hundred  a  year 
which  Hester  contributed  to  the  little  establishment  had 
eased  the  struggling  household  in  many  ways;  but  Mrs. 
Gusley  sometimes  wondered  if  the  money,  greatly  need- 
ed as  it  was,  counterbalanced  the  perpetual  friction  of  her 
sister-in-law's  presence. 

"Father!" 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  Isn't  it  wrong  to  drink  wine  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  Then  why  does  Auntie  Hester  drink  it?" 

Hester  fixed  her  eyes  intently  on  her  brother.  Would 
he  uphold  her  before  the  children  ? 

"  Because  she  thinks  it  does  her  good,"  said  Mr.  Gusley. 

69 


RED    POTTAGE 

She  withdrew  her  eyes.  Her  hand,  holding  a  spoonful 
of  cold  rice  padding,  shook.  A  delicate  color  flooded  her 
face,  and  finally  settled  in  the  tip  of  her  nose.  In  her 
own  way  she  loved  the  children. 

"Ach,  mein  Herr,"  almost  screamed  Fraulein,  who 
adored  Hester,  and  saw  the  gravity  of  the  occasion,  "  aber 
Sie  vergessen  that  the  Herr  Doctor  Br-r-r-r-r-own  has  so 
strong — so  very  strong  command — 

"  I  cannot  allow  a  discussion  as  to  the  merits  or  de- 
merits of  alcohol  at  my  table/'  said  Mr.  Gusley.  "  I 
hold  one  opinion,  Dr.  Brown  holds  another.  I  must  beg 
to  be  allowed  to  differ  from  him.  Children,  say  grace." 

It  was  Wednesday  and  a  fyalf-holiday,  and  Mrs.  Gusley 
had  arranged  to  take  the  children  in  the  pony-carriage  to 
be  measured  for  new  boots.  These  expeditions  to  West- 
hope  were  a  great  event.  At  two  o'clock  exactly  the 
three  children  rushed  down-stairs,  Regie  bearing  in  his 
hand  his  tin  money-box,  in  which  a  single  coin  could  be 
heard  to  leap.  Hester  produced  a  bright  threepenny- 
piece  for  each  child,  one  of  which  was  irretrievably  buried 
in  Regie's  money-box,  and  the  other  two  immediately  lost 
in  the  mat  in  the  pony-carriage.  However,  Hester  found 
them,  and  slipped  them  inside  their  white  gloves,  and  the 
expedition  started,  accompanied  by  Boulou,  a  diminutive 
yellow-and-white  dog  of  French  extraction.  Boulou  was 
a  well-meaning,  kind  little  soul.  There  was  a  certain 
hurried  arrogance  about  his  hind -legs,  but  it  was  only 
manner.  He  was  not  in  reality  more  conceited  than  most 
small  dogs  who  wear  their  tails  high. 

Hester  saw  them  drive  off,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
Mr.  Gusley  started  on  his  bicycle  for  a  ruridecanal  chapter 
meeting  in  the  opposite  direction.  She  heard  the  Vicar- 
age gate  "  clink  "  behind  him  as  she  crossed  the  little 
hall,  and  then  she  suddenly  stopped  short  and  wrung  her 
hands.  She  had  forgotten  to  tell  either  of  them  that  the 
Bishop  of  Southminster  was  going  to  call  that  afternoon. 
She  knew  he  was  coming  on  purpose  to  see  her,  but  this 

70 


RED    POTTAGE 

would  have  been  incredible  to  the  Gusleys.  She  had  not 
read  RacheFs  letter  announcing  his  coming  till  she  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  field  where  she  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
her  mental  equilibrium  had  been  so  shaken  by  the  an- 
noyance she  felt  she  had  caused  the  Gusleys  at  luncheon 
that  she  had  entirely  forgotten  the  subject  till  this  mo- 
ment. 

She  darted  out  of  the  house  and  flew  down  the  little 
drive.  But  Fortune  frowned  on  Hester  to-day.  She 
reached  the  turn  of  the  road  only  to  see  the  bent  figure  of 
Mr.  Gusley  whisk  swiftly  out  of  sight,  his  clerical  coat- 
tails  flowing  gracefully  out  behind  like  a  divided  skirt  on 
each  side  of  the  back  wheel. 

Hester  toiled  back  to  the  house  breathless  and  dusty, 
and  ready  to  cry  with  vexation.  "  They  will  never  believe 
I  forgot  to  tell  them,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Everything 
I  do  is  wrong  in  their  eyes  and  stupid  in  my  own."  And 
she  sat  down  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  stairs  and  leaned 
her  head  against  the  banisters. 

To  her  presently  came  a  ministering  angel  in  the  shape 
of  Fraulein,  who  had  begged  an  egg  from  the  cook,  had 
boiled  it  over  her  spirit-lamp,  and  now  presented  it  with 
effusion  to  her  friend  on  a  little  tray,  with  two  thin  slices 
of  bread-and-butter. 

"  You  are  all  goodness,  Fraulein,"  said  Hester,  raising 
her  small,  haggard  face  out  of  her  hands.  "It  is  wrong 
of  me  to  give  so  much  trouble."  She  did  not  want  the 
egg,  but  she  knew  its  oval  was  the  only  shape  in  which 
Fraulein  could  express  her  silent  sympathy.  So  she  ac- 
cepted it  gratefully,  and  ate  it  on  the  stairs,  with  the 
tenderly  severe  Fraulein  watching  every  mouthful. 

Life  did  not  seem  quite  such  a  hopeless  affair  when  the 
little  meal  was  finished.  There  were  breaks  in  the  clouds, 
after  all.  Rachel  was  coming  to  see  her  that  afternoon. 
Hester  was,  as  Fraulein  often  said,  "  easy  cast  down  and 
easy  cast  up."  The  mild  stimulant  of  the  egg  "cast  her 
up"  once  more.  She  kissed  Fraulein  and  ran  up  to  her 
room,  where  she  divested  her  small  person  of  every  speck  of 

71 


RED    POTTAGE 

dust  contracted  on  the  road,  smoothed  out  an  invisible 
crease  in  her  holland  gown,  put  back  the  little  ring  of 
hair  behind  her  ear  which  had  become  loosened  in  her 
rush  after  her  brother,  and  then  came  down,  smiling  and 
composed,  to  await  her  friend  in  the  drawing-room. 

Hester  seldom  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  partly  because 
it  was  her  sister-in-law's  only  sitting-room  and  partly  be- 
cause it  was  the  regular  haunt  of  the  Pratt  girls,  who 
(with  what  seemed  to  Hester  dreadful  familiarity)  looked 
in  at  the  windows  when  they  came  to  call,  and,  if  they 
saw  any  one  inside,  entered  straightway  by  the  same, 
making  retreat  impossible. 

The  Miss  Pratts  had  been  willing,  when  Hester  first 
came  into  the  neighborhood,  to  take  a  good-natured 
though  precarious  interest  in  "  their  Vicar's  sister/'  In- 
deed, Mrs.  Gusley  had  felt  obliged  to  warn  Hester  not  to 
count  too  much  on  their  attentions,  "as  they  sometimes 
dropped  people  as  quickly  as  they  took  them  up." 

Hester  was  ignorant  of  country  life,  of  its  small  society, 
its  inevitable  relations  with  unsympathetic  neighbors  just 
because  they  were  neighbors ;  arid  she  was  specially  igno- 
rant of  the  class  to  which  Mrs.  Gusley  and  the  Pratts  be- 
longed, and  from  which  her  aunt  had  in  her  lifetime  un- 
wisely guarded  her  niece  as  from  the  plague.  She  was 
amazed  at  first  at  the  Pratts  calling  her  by  her  Christian 
name  without  her  leave,  until  she  discovered  that  they 
spoke  of  the  whole  county  by  their  Christian  names,  even 
designating  Lord  Newhaven's  two  younger  brothers — with 
whom  they  were  not  acquainted  —  as  Jack  and  Harry, 
though  they  were  invariably  called  by  their  own  family 
John  and  Henry. 

When,  after  her  aunt's  death,  she  had,  by  the  advice  of 
her  few  remaining  relatives,  taken  up  her  abode  with  her 
brother,  as  much  on  his  account  as  her  own,  for  he  was 
poor  and  with  an  increasing  family,  she  journeyed  to 
Warpington  accompanied  by  a  pleasant  feeling  that,  at  any 
rate,  she  was  not  going  among  strangers.  She  had  often 
visited  in  Middleshire,  at  Wilderleigh,  in  the  elder  Mr. 

72 


RED    POTTAGE 

Loftus's  time,  for  whom  she  had  entertained  an  enthusi- 
astic reverence ;  at  VYesthope  Abbey,  where  she  had  a  firm 
ally  in  Lord  Newhaven,  and  at  several  other  Middleshire 
houses.  She  was  silly  enough  to  think  she  knew  Middle- 
shire  fairly  well,  but  after  she  settled  at  Warpington  she 
gradually  discovered  the  existence  of  a  large  undercur- 
rent of  society  of  which  she  knew  nothing  at  all,  in  which, 
whether  she  were  willing  or  not,  she  was  plunged  by  the 
fact  that  she  was  her  brother's  sister. 

Hester  perceived  clearly  enough  that  her  brother  did 
not  by  birth  belong  to  this  set,  though  his  profession 
brought  him  in  contact  with  it,  but  he  had  evidently, 
though  involuntarily,  adopted  it  for  better  for  worse ;  per- 
haps because  a  dictatorial  habit  is  generally  constrained 
to  find  companionship  in  a  social  grade  lower  than  its 
own,  where  a  loud  voice  and  a  tendency  to  monologue 
checkered  by  prehistoric  jokes  and  tortured  puns  may 
meet  with  a  more  patient  audience.  Hester  made  many 
discoveries  about  herself  during  the  first  months  of  her 
life  at  Warpington,  and  the  first  of  the  series  amazed  her 
more  than  any  of  the  later  ones. 

She  discovered  that  she  was  proud.  Perhaps  she  had 
not  the  enormous  opinion  of  herself  which  Mrs.  Gusley  so 
frequently  deplored,  for  Hester's  thoughts  seldom  dwelt 
upon  herself.  But  the  altered  circumstances  of  her  life 
forced  them  momentarily  upon  herself  nevertheless,  as  a 
burst  pipe  will  spread  its  waters  down  a  damask  curtain. 

So  far,  during  the  eight  years  since  she  had  left  the 
school-room,  she  had  always  been  "Miss  Gusley,"  a  little 
personage  treated  with  consideration  wherever  she  went, 
and  choye  for  her  delicate  humor  and  talent  for  conversa- 
tion. .  She  now  experienced  the  interesting  sensation,  as 
novel  to  her  as  it  is  familiar  to  most  of  us,  of  being  no- 
body, and  she  disliked  it.  The  manners  of  the  set  in 
which  she  found  herself  also  grated  continually  on  her 
fastidious  taste.  She  was  first  amazed  and  then  indignant 
at  hearing  her  old  Middleshire  friends,  whose  simplicity 
far  surpassed  that  of  her  new  acquaintance,  denounced 

73 


RED    POTTAGE 

by  the  latter — without  being  acquainted  with  them  except 
officially — as  "fine,"  as  caring  only  for  "London  people," 
and  as  being  "  tuft-hunters,"  because  they  frequently  en- 
tertained at  their  houses  persons  of  rank,  to  half  of  whom 
they  were  related.  All  this  was  new  to  Hester.  She  dis- 
covered that,  though  she  might  pay  visits  at  these  houses, 
she  must  never  mention  them,  as  it  was  considered  the 
height  of  vulgarity  to  speak  of  people  of  rank. 

Mrs.  Gusley,  who  had  been  quite  taken  aback  when  the 
first  of  these  invitations  came,  felt  it  her  duty  to  warn 
Hester  against  a  love  of  rank,  reminding  her  that  it  was  a 
very  bad  thing  to  get  a  name  for  running  after  titled 
people. 

"James  and  I  have  always  kept  clear  of  that,"  she  re- 
marked, with  dignity.  "  For  my  part,  I  dare  say  you  will 
think  me  very  old-fashioned,  but  I  must  own  I  never  can 
see  that  people  with  titles  or  wealth  are  one  bit  nicer  or 
pleasanter  than  those  without  them." 

Hester  agreed. 

"And,"  continued  Mrs.  Gusley,  "it  has  always  been 
our  aim  to  be  independent,  not  to  bow  down  before  any 
one.  If  I  am  unworldly,  it  is  because  I  had  the  advan- 
tage of  parents  who  impressed  on  me  the  hollowness  of  all 
social  distinctions.  If  the  Pratts  were  given  a  title  to- 
morrow I  should  behave  exactly  the  same  to  them  as  I  do 
now." 

If  Lady  Susan  Gusley  had  passed  her  acquaintance 
through  a  less  exclusive  sieve,  Hester  might  have  had  the 
advantage  of  hearing  all  these  well-worn  sentiments,  and 
of  realizing  the  point  of  view  of  a  large  number  of  her 
fellow-creatures  before  she  became  an  inconspicuous  unit 
in  their  midst. 

But  if  Mrs.  Gusley  was  pained  by  Hester's  predilection 
for  the  society  of  what  she  called  "swells"  (the  word, 
though  quite  extinct  in  civilized  parts,  can  occasionally  be 
found  in  country  districts),  she  was  still  more  pained  by 
the  friendships  Hester  formed  with  persons  whom  her 
sister-in-law  considered  "  not  quite." 

74 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mrs.  Gusley  was  always  perfectly  civil,  and  the  Pratts 
imperfectly  so,  to  Miss  Brown,  the  doctor's  invalid  sister. 
But  Hester  made  friends  with  her,  in  spite  of  the  warn- 
ings of  Mrs.  Gusley  that  kindness  was  one  thing  and  inti- 
macy another. 

"The  truth  is,"  Mrs.  Gusley  would  say,  "Hester  loves 
adulation,  and  as  she  can't  get  it  from  the  Pratts  and  us, 
she  has  to  go  to  those  below  her  in  the  social  scale,  like 
Miss  Brown,  who  will  give  it  to  her.  Miss  Brown  may 
be  very  cultivated.  I  dare  say  she  is,  but  she  makes  up  to 
Hester/' 

Sybell  Lof  tus,  who  lived  close  at  hand  at  Wilderleigh, 
across  the  Drone,  was  one  of  the  very  few  besides  Miss 
Brown  among  her  new  acquaintances  who  hailed  Hester 
at  once  as  a  kindred  spirit,  to  the  unconcealed  surprise 
of  the  Pratts  and  the  Gusleys.  Sybell  adored  Hester's 
book,  which  the  Gusleys  and  Pratts  considered  rather 
peculiar  "as  emanating  from  the  pen  of  a  clergyman's 
sister."  She  enthusiastically  suggested  to  Hester  several 
improvements  which  might  easily  be  made  in  it,  which 
would  have  changed  its  character  altogether.  She  even 
intrenched  on  the  sacred  precinct  of  a  married  woman's 
time  to  write  out  the  openings  of  several  romances,  which 
she  was  sure  Hester,  with  her  wonderful  talent,  could  build 
up  into  magnificent  works  of  art.  She  was  always  run- 
ning over  to  the  Vicarage  to  confide  to  Hester  the  unique 
thoughts  which  had  been  vouchsafed  to  her  while  con- 
templating a  rose,  or  her  child,  or  her  husband,  or  all  three 
together. 

Hester  was  half  amused,  half  fascinated,  and  ruefully 
lost  many  of  the  mornings  still  left  her  by  the  Pratts  and 
Gusleys  in  listening  to  the  outpourings  of  this  butterfly 
soul,  which  imagined  every  flower  it  involuntarily  alighted 
on  and  drew  honey  from  to  be  its  own  special  production. 

But  Hester's  greatest  friend  in  Middleshire  was  the 
Bishop  of  Southminster,  with  whom  Kachel  was  staying, 
and  whom  she  was  expecting  this  afternoon. 

75 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  depth  and  dream  of  my  desire, 

The  bitter  paths  wherein  I  stray, 
Thou  knowest  who  has  made  the  Fire, 

Thou  knowest  who  has  made  the  Clay  ! 

— RUDYAKD  KIPLING. 

THE  unbalanced  joys  and  sorrows  of  emotional  natures 
are  apt  to  arouse  the  pity  of  the  narrow-hearted  and  the 
mild  contempt  of  the  obtuse  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

But  perhaps  it  is  a  mistake  to  feel  compassion  for  per- 
sons like  Hester,  for  if  they  have  many  evil  days  and 
weeks  in  their  usually  short  lives,  they  have  also  moments 
of  sheer  bliss,  hours  of  awed  contemplation  and  of  ex- 
quisite rapture  which,  possibly,  in  the  long  run,  equal  the 
more  solid  joys  of  a  good  income  and  a  good  digestion, 
nay,  even  the  perennial  glow  of  that  happiest  of  happy 
temperaments  which  limits  the  nature  of  others  by  its 
own,  which  sees  no  uncomfortable  difference  between  a 
moral  and  a  legal  right,  and  believes  it  can  measure  life 
with  the  same  admirable  accuracy  with  which  it  measures 
its  drawing-room  curtains. 

As  Hester  and  Rachel  sat  together  in  the  Vicarage 
drawing-room,  Rachel's  faithful,  doglike  eyes  detected  no 
trace  of  tears  in  Hester's  dancing,  mischievous  ones. 
They  were  alone,  for  the  Bishop  had  dropped  Rachel  on 
his  way  to  visit  a  sick  clergyman,  and  had  arranged  to  call 
at  the  Vicarage  on  his  way  back. 

Hester  quickly  perceived  that  Rachel  did  not  wish  to 
talk  of  herself,  and  drew  a  quaint  picture  of  her  own  life 
at  Warpington,  which  she  described  "not  wisely  but  too 
well."  But  she  was  faithful  to  her  salt.  She  said  nothing 

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of  the  Gusleys  to  which  those  worthies  could  have  ob- 
jected had  they  been  present.  Indeed,  she  spoke  of  them 
in  what  they  would  have  termed  "a  very  proper  manner/' 
of  their  kindness  to  her  when  she  had  been  ill,  of  how  Mr. 
Gusley  had  himself  brought  up  her  breakfast-tray  every 
morning,  and  how,  in  the  spring,  he  had  taught  her  to 
bicycle. 

"But,  oh!  Rachel,"  added  Hester,  " during  the  last 
nine  months  my  self-esteem  has  been  perforated  with 
wounds,  each  large  enough  to  kill  the  poor  creature.  My 
life  here  has  shown  me  horrible  faults  in  myself  of  which 
I  never  dreamed.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  ironed  all  over 
since  I  came  here,  and  all  kinds  of  ugly  words  in  invisible 
ink  are  coming  out  clear  in  the  process." 

"I  am  quite  alarmed,"  said  Rachel,  tranquilly. 

"You  ought  to  be.  First  of  all  I  did  think  I  cared 
nothing  about  food.  I  don't  remember  ever  giving  it  a 
thought  when  I  lived  with  Aunt  Susan.  But  here  I — I 
am  difficult  about  it.  I  do  try  to  eat  it,  but  often  I  really 
can't.  And  then  I  leave  it  on  my  plate,  which  is  a  dis- 
gusting habit,  which  always  offends  me  in  other  people. 
Now  I  am  as  bad  as  any  of  them ;  indeed,  it  is  worse  in 
me  because  I  know  poor  James  is  not  very  rich." 

"I  suppose  the  cooking  is  vile  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  noticed  what  I  ate  till  I  came 
here,  so  I  can't  judge.  Perhaps  it  is  not  very  good.  But 
the  dreadful  part  is  that  I  should  mind.  I  could  not 
have  believed  it  of  myself.  James  arid  Minna  never  say 
anything,  but  I  know  it  vexes  them,  as  of  course  it  must." 

Rachel  looked  critically  at  Hester's  innocent,  childlike 
face.  When  Hester  was  not  a  cultivated  woman  of  the 
world  she  was  a  child.  There  was,  alas  !  no  medium  in 
her  character.  Rachel  noticed  how  thin  her  face  and 
hands  had  become,  and  the  strained  look  in  the  eyes. 
The  faint  color  in  her  cheek  had  a  violet  tinge. 

She  did  not  waste  words  on  the  cookery  question.  She 
saw  plainly  enough  that  Hester's  weak  health  was  slipping 
further  down  the  hill. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"And  all  this  time  you  have  been  working  ?" 

"  If  you  call  it  working.  I  used  to  call  it  so  once,  but 
I  never  do  now.  Yes,  I  manage  about  four  hours  a  day. 
I  have  made  another  pleasant  discovery  about  myself — 
that  I  have  the  temper  of  a  fiend  if  I  am  interrupted." 

"But  surely  you  told  the  Gusleys  when  first  you  came 
that  you  must  not  be  interrupted  at  certain  hours  ?" 

"I  did.  I  did.  But,  of  course — it  is  very  natural — 
they  think  that  rather  self-important  and  silly.  I  am 
thought  very  silly  here,  Rachel.  And  James  does  not 
mind  being  interrupted  in  writing  his  sermons.  And  the 
Pratts  have  got  the  habit  of  running  in  in  the  mornings." 

"  Who  on  earth  are  the  Pratts  ?" 

"They  are  what  they  call  ( county  people/  Their 
father  made  a  fortune  in  oil,  and  built  a  house  cov- 
ered with  turrets  near  here  a  few  years  ago.  I  used  to 
know  Captain  Pratt,  the  son,  very  slightly  in  London. 
I  never  would  dance  with  him.  He  used  to  come  to  our 
'  At  Homes/  but  he  was  never  asked  to  dinner.  He  is  a 
great  'parti'  among  a  certain  set  down  here.  His  mother 
and  sisters  were  very  kind  to  me  when  I  came,  but  I  was 
not  so  accustomed  then  as  I  am  now  to  be  treated  famil- 
iarly and  called  '  Hessie/  which  no  one  has  ever  called 
me  before,  and  I  am  afraid  I  was  not  so  responsive  as  I 
see  now  I  ought  to  have  been.  Down  here  it  seems  your 
friends  are  the  people  whom  you  live  near,  not  the  ones 
you  like.  It  seems  a  curious  arrangement.  And  as  the 
Pratts  are  James's  and  Minna's  greatest  friends,  I  did  not 
wish  to  offend  them.  And  then,  of  course,  I  did  offend 
them  mortally  at  last  by  losing  my  temper  when  they 
came  up  to  my  room  to  what  they  called  ( rout  me  out/ 
though  I  had  told  them  I  was  busy  in  the  mornings.  I 
was  in  a  very  difficult  place,  and  when  they  came  in  I  did 
not  know  who  they  were,  because  only  the  people  in  the 
book  were  real  just  then.  And  then  when  I  recognized 
them,  and  the  scene  in  my  mind  which  I  had  been  waiting 
for  for  weeks  was  shattered  like  a  pane  of  glass,  I  be- 
came quite  giddy  and  spoke  wildly.  And  then — I  was 

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RED    POTTAGE 

so  ashamed  afterwards — I  burst  into  tears  of  rage  and  de- 
spair." 

Even  the  remembrance  was  too  much.  Hester  wiped 
away  two  large  tears  onto  a  dear  little  handkerchief  just 
large  enough  to  receive  them,  and  went  on  with  a  quaver 
in  her  voice. 

"  I  was  so  shocked  at  myself  that  I  found  it  quite  easy 
to  tell  them  next  day  that  I  was  sorry  I  had  lost  my  tem- 
per ;  but  they  have  not  been  the  same  since.  Not  that  I 
wanted  them  to  be  the  same.  I  would  rather  they  were 
different.  But  I  was  anxious  to  keep  on  cordial  terms 
with  Minna's  friends.  She  quarrels  with  them  herself, 
but  that  is  different.  I  suppose  it  is  inevitable  if  you 
are  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  people  you  don't 
really  care  for." 

"At  any  rate,  tliey  have  not  interrupted  you  again  ?" 

' '  N — no.  But  still,  I  was  often  interrupted.  Minna  has 
too  much  to  do,  and  she  is  not  strong  just  now,  and  she 
often  sends  up  one  of  the  children,  and  I  was  so  nearly 
fierce  with  one  of  them — poor  little  things  ! — that  I  felt  the 
risk  was  becoming  too  great,  so  I  have  left  off  writing  be- 
tween breakfast  and  luncheon,  and  I  get  up  directly  it  is 
light  instead.  It  is  light  very  early  now.  Only  the  worst 
part  of  it  is  that  I  am  so  tired  for  the  rest  of  the  day  that 
I  can  hardly  drag  myself  about." 

Rachel  said  nothing.  She  seldom  commented  on  the 
confidences  that  were  made  to  her.  She  saw  that  Hester, 
always  delicate,  was  making  an  enormous  effort  under 
conditions  which  would  be  certain  to  entail  disastrous 
effects  on  her  health.  The  book  was  sapping  her  strength 
like  a  vampire,  and  the  Gusleys  were  evidently  exhausting 
it  still  further  by  unconsciously  strewing  her  path  with 
difficulties.  Rachel  did  not  know  them,  but  she  supposed 
they  belonged  to  that  large  class  whose  eyes  are  holden. 

"  And  the  book  itself  ?     Is  it  nearly  finished  ?" 

Hester's  face  changed.  Eagerly,  shyly,  enthusiastical- 
ly she  talked  to  her  friend  about  the  book,  as  a  young 
girl  talks  of  her  lover.  Everything  else  was  forgotten. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Hester's  eyes  burned.  Her  color  came  and  went.  She 
was  transfigured. 

The  protecting,  anxious  affection  died  out  of  Rachel's 
face  as  she  looked  at  Hester,  and  gave  place  to  a  certain 
wistful,  half  -  envious  admiration.  She  had  once  been 
shaken  by  all  these  emotions  herself,  years  ago,  when  she 
was  in  love.  She  had  regarded  them  as  a  revelation 
while  they  lasted  ;  and  afterwards,  as  a  steep  step — a  very 
steep  step — upon  the  stair  of  life.  But  she  realized  now 
that  such  as  Hester  live  constantly  in  the  world  which 
the  greater  number  of  us  can  only  enter  when  human 
passion  lends  us  the  key;  the  world  at  which,  when  the 
gates  are  shut  against  us,  the  coarser  minded  among  us 
are  not  ashamed  to  level  their  ridicule  and  contempt. 

Hester  spoke  brokenly  with  awe  and  reverence  of  her 
book,  as  of  some  mighty  presence,  some  constraining 
power  outside  herself.  She  saw  it  complete,  beautiful — 
an  entrancing  vision,  inaccessible  as  a  sunset. 

"  I  cannot  reach  up  to  it.  I  cannot  get  near  it,"  she 
said.  ' '  When  I  try  to  write  it,  it  is  like  drawing  an  angel 
with  spread  wings  with  a  bit  of  charcoal.  I  understate 
everything.  Yet  I  labor  day  by  day  travestying  it,  cari- 
caturing the  beautiful  thoughts  that  come  into  my  mind. 
I  make  everything  commonplace  and  vulgar  by  putting 
it  into  words.  I  go  alone  into  the  woods  and  sit  for 
hours  quite  still  with  the  trees.  And  gradually  I  under- 
stand and  know.  And  I  listen,  and  Nature  speaks,  really 
speaks — not  a  fapon  de  parler,  as  some  people  think  who 
explain  to  you  that  you  mean  this  or  that  by  your  words 
which  you  don't  mean — and  her  spirit  becomes  one  with 
my  spirit.  And  I  feel  I  can  never  xagain  misunderstand 
her,  never  again  fail  to  interpret  her,  never  again  wander 
so  far  away  from  her  that  every  white  anemone  and  every 
seedling  fern  disowns  me,  and  waits  in  silence  till  the 
alien  has  gone  from  among  them.  And  I  come  home, 
Rachel,  and  I  try,  sometimes  I  try  for  half  the  night,  to 
find  words  to  translate  it  into.  But  there  are  no  words, 
or,  if  there  are,  I  cannot  find  them,  and  at  last  I  fall  back 

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RED    POTTAGE 

on  some  coarse  simile,  and  in  my  despair  I  write  it  down. 
And,  oh  !  Rachel,  the  worst  is  that  presently,  when  I  have 
forgotten  what  it  ought  to  have  been,  when  the  vision 
fades,  I  know  I  shall  admire  what  I  have  written.  It  is 
that  that  breaks  my  heart." 

The  old,  old  lament  of  those  who  worship  art,  that 
sternest  mistress  in  the  world,  fell  into  the  silence  of  the 
little  drawing-room.  Rachel  understood  it  in  part  only, 
for  she  had  always  vaguely  felt  that  Hester  idealized  Nat- 
ure, as  she  idealized  her  fellow-creatures,  as  she  idealized 
everything,  and  she  did  not  comprehend  why  Hester  was 
in  despair  because  she  could  not  speak  adequately  of  Life 
or  Nature  as  she  saw  them.  Rachel  thought,  with  bewil- 
derment, that  that  was  just  what  she  could  do. 

At  this  moment  a  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door,  and 
after  a  long  interval,  during  which  the  wrathful  voice  of 
the  cook  could  be  distinctly  heard  through  the  kitchen 
window  recalling  "  Hemma"  to  a  sense  of  duty  from  the 
back  yard,  "  Hemma  "  breathlessly  ushered  in  the  Bishop 
of  Southminster. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Originality  irritates  the  religious  classes,  who  will  not  be  taken 
out  of  their  indolent  ways  of  thinking  ;  who  have  a  standing  griev- 
ance against  it,  and  "heresy"  and  "heterodoxy  "  are  bad  words  ready 
for  it.— W.  W.  PEYTON. 

THE  Bishop  was  an  undersized,  spare  man,  with  a  rug- 
ged, weather-beaten  face  and  sinewy  frame.  If  you  had 
seen  him  working  a  crane  in  a  stone-mason's  yard,  or  lead- 
ing a  cut-and-thrust  forlorn-hope,  or  sailing  paper  boats 
with  a  child,  you  would  have  felt  he  was  the  right  man  in 
the  right  place.  That  he  was  also  in  his  right  place  as  a 
bishop  had  never  been  doubted  by  any  one.  Mr.  G-usley 
was  the  only  person  who  had  occasionally  had  misgivings 
as  to  the  Bishop's  vocation  as  a  true  priest,  but  he  had  put 
them  aside  as  disloyal. 

Jowett  is  believed  to  have  said,  "A  bishop  without  a 
sense  of  humor  is  lost."  Perhaps  that  may  have  been  one 
of  the  reasons  why,  by  Jowett's  advice,  the  See  of  South- 
minster  was  offered  to  its  present  occupant.  The  Bishop's 
mouth,  though  it  spoke  of  an  indomitable  will,  had  a  cer- 
tain twist  of  the  lip,  his  deep-set,  benevolent  eyes  had  a 
certain  twinkle  which  made  persons  like  Lord  Newhaven 
and  Hester  hail  him  at  once  as  an  ally,  but  which  ought 
to  have  been  a  danger-signal  to  some  of  his  clerical  breth- 
ren—  to  Mr.  G-usley  in  particular. 

The  Bishop  respected  and  upheld  Mr.  Gusley  as  a  cler- 
gyman, but  as  a  conversationalist  the  young  vicar  wearied 
him.  If  the  truth  were  known  (which  it  never  was),  he 
had  arranged  to  visit  Hester  when  he  knew  Mr.  Gusley 
would  be  engaging  the  reluctant  attention  of  a  ruridec- 
anal  meeting. 


RED    POTTAGE 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  became  aware  that  Hester 
and  Eachel  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  cool,  darkened 
room.  Mrs.  Gusley,  it  seemed,  was  also  out. 

Hester  made  tea,  and  presently  the  Bishop,  who  looked 
much  exhausted,  roused  himself.  He  had  that  afternoon 
attended  two  death-beds  —  one  the  death-bed  of  a  friend, 
and  the  other  that  of  the  last  vestige  of  peace,  expiring 
amid  the  clamor  of  a  distracted  Low  Church  parish  and 
High  Church  parson,  who  could  only  meet  each  other 
after  the  fashion  of  cymbals.  For  the  moment  even  his 
courageous  spirit  had  been  disheartened. 

"I  met  a  son  of  Anak  the  other  night  at  the  New- 
havens',"  he  said  to  Hester,  "  who  claimed  you  as  a  cous- 
in—  a  Mr.  Richard  Vernon.  He  broke  the  ice  by  inform- 
ing me  that  I  had  confirmed  him,  and  that  perhaps  I 
should  like  to  know  that  he  had  turned  out  better  than  he 
expected." 

"  How  like  Dick  !"  said  Hester. 

"  I  remembered  him  at  last.  His  father  was  the  squire 
of  Farlow,  where  I  was  rector  before  I  came  to  Southmin- 
ster.  Dick  was  not  a  source  of  unmixed  pleasure  to  his 
parents.  As  a  boy  of  eight  he  sowed  the  parental  billiard- 
table  with  mustard  and  cress  in  his  father's  absence,  and 
raised  a  very  good  crop,  and  performed  other  excruciat- 
ing experiments.  I  believe  he  beat  all  previous  records  of 
birch  rods  at  Eton.  I  remember  while  he  was  there  he 
won  a  bet  from  another  boy  who  could  not  pay,  and  he 
foreclosed  on  the  loser's  cricketing  trousers.  His  parents 
were  distressed  about  it  when  he  brought  them  home,  and 
I  tried  to  make  him  see  that  he  ought  not  to  have  taken 
them.  But  Dick  held  firm.  He  said  it  was  like  tithe, 
and  if  he  could  not  get  his  own  in  money,  as  I  did,  he  must 
collect  it  in  trousers.  I  must  own  he  had  me  there.  I 
noticed  that  he  wore  the  garment  daily  as  long  as  any 
question  remained  in  his  parents'  minds  as  to  whether 
they  ought  to  be  returned.  After  that  I  felt  sure  he 
would  succeed  in  life." 

"  I  believe  he  is  succeeding  in  Australia." 

83 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  advised  his  father  to  send  him  abroad.  There  really 
was  not  room  for  him  in  England,  and,  unfortunately  for 
the  army,  the  examiners  jibbed  at  his  strictly  phonetic 
spelling.  He  tells  me  he  has  given  up  being  an  A.D.C. 
and  has  taken  to  vine-growing,  because  if  people  are  up  in 
the  world  they  always  drink  freely,  and  if  they  are  '  down 
on  their  luck'  they  drink  all  the  more  to  drown  care.  The 
reasoning  appeared  to  me  sound." 

"  He  and  James  used  to  quarrel  frightfully  in  the  holi- 
days," said  Hester.  "  It  was  always  the  same  reason, 
about  playing  fair.  Poor  James  did  not  know  that  games 
were  matters  of  deadly  importance,  and  that  a  rule  was  a 
sacred  thing.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  clergymen  so  often 
have  the  same  code  of  honor  as  women ;  quite  a  different 
code  from  that  of  the  average  man." 

"I  think,"  said  the  Bishop,  "it  is  owing  to  that  differ- 
ence of  code  that  women  clash  so  hopelessly  with  men 
when  they  attempt  to  compete  or  work  with  them. 
Women  have  not  to  begin  with  the  esprit  de  corps  which 
the  most  ordinary  men  possess.  With  what  difficulty  can 
one  squeeze  out  of  a  man  any  fact  that  is  detrimental  to 
his  friend,  or  even  to  his  acquaintance,  however  obviously 
necessary  it  may  be  that  the  information  should  be  asked 
for  and  given.  Yet  I  know  many  good  and  earnest  and 
affectionate  women,  who  lead  unselfish  lives,  who  will 
''give  away '  their  best  woman  friend  at  the  smallest  prov- 
ocation, or  without  any  provocation  at  all ;  will  inform 
you,  d  propos  of  nothing,  that  she  was  jilted  years  ago,  or 
that  her  husband  married  her  for  her  money.  The  causes 
of  humiliation  and  disaster  in  a  woman's  life  seem  to  have 
no  sacredness  for  her  women  friends.  Yet  if  that  same 
friend  whom  she  has  run  down  is  ill,  the  runner  down  will 
nurse  her  day  and  night  with  absolutely  selfless  devotion/' 

"I  have  often  been  puzzled  by  that,"  said  Rachel.  "I 
seem  to  be  always  making  mistakes  about  women,  and 
perhaps  that  is  the  reason.  They  show  themselves  capa- 
ble of  some  deep  affection  or  some  great  self-sacrifice, 
and  I  respect  and  admire  them,  and  think  they  are  like 

84 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  all  through.  And  the  day  comes  when  they  are  not 
quite  straightforward,  or  are  guilty  of  some  petty  mean- 
ness, which  a  man  who  is  not  fit  to  black  their  boots  would 
never  stoop  to." 

Hester's  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  her  friend. 

"Do  you  tell  them  ?  Do  you  show  them  up  to  them- 
selves," she  asked,  "  or  do  you  leave  them  ?" 

"  I  do  neither,"  said  Rachel.  "  I  treat  them  just  the 
same  as  before." 

"  Then  aren't  you  a  hypocrite,  too  ?" 

Hester's  small  face  was  set  like  a  flint. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Rachel,  tranquilly,  "any  more  than 
they  are.  The  good'  is  there  for  certain,  and  the  evil  is 
there  for  Certain.  Why  should  I  take  most  notice  of  the 
evil,  whic.  's  just  the  part  which  will  be  rubbed  out  of 
them  presently,  while  the  good  will  remain  ?" 

"  I  think  Rachel  is  right,"  said  the  Bishop. 

"  I  don't  think  she  is,  at  all,"  said  Hester,  her  plumage 
ruffled,  administering  her  contradiction  right  and  left  to 
her  two  best  friends  like  a  sharp  peck  from  a  wren.  "  I 
think  we  ought  to  believe  the  best  of  people  until  they 
prove  themselves  unworthy,  and  then — " 

"Then  what?"  said  the  Bishop,  settling  himself  in  his 
chair. 

"  Then  leave  them  in  silence/' 

"  I  only  know  of  a  woman's  silence  by  hearsay.  I  have 
never  met  it.  Do  you  mean  that  we  should  bitterly  re- 
proach the  thistle  for  not  bearing  grapes  ?" 

"I  do  not.  It  is  my  own  fault  if  I  idealize  a  thistle 
until  the  thistle  and  I  both  think  it  is  a  vine.  But  if 
people  appear  to  love  and  honor  certain  truths  which  they 
know  are  everything  to  me,  and  claim  kinship  with  me  on 
that  common  ground,  and  then  desert  when  the  pinch 
comes,  as  it  always  does  come,  and  act  from  worldly  mo- 
tives, then  I  know  that  they  have  never  really  cared  for 
what  they  professed  to  love,  that  what  I  imagined  to  be  a 
principle  was  only  a  subject  of  conversation — and — 1 
withdraw," 

30 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  You  withdraw  I"  echoed  the  Bishop.  "  This  is  ter- 
rible.w 

"Just  as  I  should/'  continued  Hester,  "if  I  were  in 
political  life.  If  a  man  threw  in  his  lot  with  me,  and 
then,  when  some  means  of  worldly  advancement  seemed 
probable  from  the  other  side,  deserted  to  it,  I  should  not 
in  consequence  think  him  incapable  of  being  a  good  hus- 
band and  father  and  landlord.  But  I  should  never  again 
believe  that  he  cared  for  what  I  had  staked  my  all  on. 
And  when  he  began  to  talk  as  if  he  cared  (as  they  always 
do,  as  if  nothing  had  happened)  I  should  not  show  him 
up  to  himself.  I  have  tried  that  and  it  is  no  use.  I 
should—" 

"  Denounce  him  as  an  apostate  ?"  suggested  the  Bishop. 

"No.  He  should  be  to  me  thenceforward  as  a 
heathen/' 

"  Thrice  miserable  man  I" 

"  You  would  not  have  me  treat  him  as  a  brother  after 
that?" 

"  Of  course  not,  because  he  would  probably  dislike  that 
still  more/' 

At  this  moment  a  hurricane  seemed  to  pass  through  the 
little  house,  and  the  three  children  rushed  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, accompanied  by  Boulon,  in  a  frantic  state  of 
excitement.  Boulou,  like  Hester,  had  no  happy  medium 
in  his  character.  He  was  what  Mrs.  Gusley  called  "very 
Frenchy,"  and  he  now  showed  his  Frenchiness  by  a  fool- 
ish exhibition  of  himself  in  coursing  round  and  round 
the  room  with  his  silly  foreign  tail  crooked  the  wrong 
way. 

"  Mother  got  out  at  Mrs.  Brown's,"  shrieked  Kegie,  in 
his  highest  voice,  "and  I  drove  up." 

"  Oh,  Regie !"  expostulated  Mary  the  virtuous,  the  in- 
variable corrector  of  the  statements  of  others.  "You 
held  the  reins,  but  William  walked  beside." 

Hester  made  the  children  shake  hands  with  her  guests, 
and  then  they  clustered  round  her  to  show  what  they  had 
bought. 


KED    POTTAGE 

Though  the  Bishop  was  fond  of  children,  he  became 
suddenly  restive.  He  took  out  his  watch,  and  was  ner- 
vously surprised  at  the  lapse  of  time.  The  carriage  was 
sent  for,  and  in  a  few  minutes  that  dignified  vehicle  was 
bowling  back  to  Southminster. 

"  I  am  not  satisfied  about  Hester/7  said  the  Bishop. 
"She  looks  ill  and  irritable,  and  she  has  the  tense  ex- 
pression of  a  person  who  is  making  a  colossal  effort  to  be 
patient,  and  whose  patience,  after  successfully  meeting 
twenty  calls  upon  it  in  the  course  of  the  day,  collapses 
entirely  at  the  twenty-first.  That  is  a  humiliating  expe- 
rience." 

"  She  spoke  as  if  she  were  a  trial  to  her  brother  and  his 
wife." 

"  I  think  she  is.  I  have  a  sort  of  sympathy  with  Gus- 
ley  as  regards  his  sister.  He  has  been  kind  to  her  accord- 
ing to  his  lights,  and  if  she  could  write  little  goody-goody 
books  he  would  admire  her  immensely,  and  so  would 
half  the  neighborhood.  It  would  be  felt  to  be  suitable. 
But  Hester  jars  against  the  preconceived  ideas  that 
clergymen's  sisters  and  daughters  should,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  offer  up  their  youth  and  hair  and  teeth  and 
eyesight  on  the  altar  of  parochial  work.  She  does  and  is 
nothing  that  long  custom  expects  her  to  do  and  be. 
Originality  is  out  of  place  in  a  clergyman's  family,  just 
because  it  is  so  urgently  needed.  It  is  a  constant  source 
of  friction.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  best  thing  that 
could  happen  to  Hester  is  to  be  thrown  for  a  time  among 
people  who  regard  her  as  a  nonentity,  who  have  no  sense 
of  humor,  and  to  whom  she  cannot  speak  of  any  of  the 
subjects  she  has  at  heart.  If  Hester  had  remained  in 
London  after  the  success  of  her  Idyll  she  would  have  met 
with  so  much  sympathy  and  admiration  that  her  next 
book  would  probably  have  suffered  in  consequence.  She 
is  so  susceptible,  so  expansive,  that  repression  is  positively 
necessary  to  her  to  enable  her,  so  to  speak,  to  get  up 
steam.  There  is  no  place  for  getting  up  steam  like  a 
country  vicarage  with  an  inner  cordon  of  cows  round  it 

87 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  an  outer  one  of  amiable  country  neighbors,  mildly 
contemptuous  of  originality  in  any  form.  She  cannot  be 
in  sympathy  with  them  in  her  present  stage.  It  is  her 
loss,  not  theirs.  At  forty  she  will  be  in  sympathy  with 
them,  and  appreciate  them  as  I  do;  but  that  is  another 
story.  She  has  been  working  at  this  new  book  all  winter 
with  a  fervor  and  concentration  which  her  isolation  has 
helped  to  bring  about.  She  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
her  surroundings,  and  some  day  I  shall  tell  her  so/' 
"She  says  her  temper  has  become  that  of  a  fiend." 
"  She  is  passionate,  there  is  no  doubt.  She  nearly  fell 
on  ns  both  this  afternoon.  She  is  too  much  swayed  by 
every  little  incident.  Everything  makes  a  vivid  impres- 
sion on  her  and  shakes  her  to  pieces.  It  is  rather  absurd 
and  disproportionate  now,  like  the  long  legs  of  a  foal,  but 
it  is  a  sign  of  growth.  My  experience  is  that  people  with- 
out that  fire  of  enthusiasm  on  the  one  side  and  righteous 
indignation  on  the  other  never  achieve  anything  except  in 
domestic  life.  If  Hester  lives,  she  will  outgrow  her  pas- 
sionate nature,  or  at  least  she  will  grow  up  to  it  and 
become  passive,  contemplative.  Then,  instead  of  unbal- 
anced anger  and  excitement,  the  same  nature  will  have 
learned  to  receive  impressions  calmly  which  is  now  con- 
tinually upset  by  them,  and,  by  reason  of  that  receptive- 
ness  and  insight,  she  will  go  far." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Only  those  who  know  the  supremacy  of  the  intellectual  life — 
the  life  which  has  a  seed  of  ennobling  thought  and  purpose  within 
it — can  understand  the  grief  of  one  who  falls  from  that  serene  ac- 
tivity into  the  absorbing  soul-wasting  struggle  with  worldly  annoy- 
ances.—GEORGE  ELIOT. 

HESTER  in  the  meanwhile  was  expressing  wonder  and 
astonishment  at  the  purchases  of  the  children,  who,  with 
the  exception  of  Mary,  had  spent  their  little  all  on  presents 
for  Fraulein,  whose  birthday  was  on  the  morrow.  After 
Mary's  tiny  white  bone  umbrella  had  been  discovered  to 
be  a  needle-case,  and  most  of  the  needles  had  been  re- 
covered from  the  floor,  Regie  extracted  from  its  paper  a 
little  china  cow.  But,  alas  !  the  cow's  ears  and  horns  re- 
mained in  the  bag,  owing  possibly  to  the  incessant  passage 
of  the  parcel  from  one  pocket  to  another  on  the  way  home. 
Regie  looked  at  the  remnants  in  the  bag,  and  his  lip  quiv- 
ered, while  Mary,  her  own  umbrella  safely  warehoused,  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh,  Regie  !"  in  tones  of  piercing  reproach. 

But  Hester  quickly  suggested  that  she  could  put  them 
on  again  quite  easily,  and  Fraulein  would  like  it  just  as 
much.  Still,  it  was  a  blow.  Regie  leaned  his  head  against 
Hester's  shoulder. 

Hester  pressed  her  cheek  against  his  little  dark  head. 
Sybell  Loftus  had  often  told  Hester  that  she  could  have 
no  idea  of  the  happiness  of  a  child's  touch  till  she  was  a 
mother;  that  she  herself  had  not  had  an  inkling  till  then. 
But  perhaps  some  poor  substitute  for  that  exquisite  feel- 
ing was  vouchsafed  to  Hester. 

"The  tail  is  still  on,"  she  whispered,  not  too  cheerfully, 
but  as  one  who  in  darkness  sees  light  beyond. 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  cow's  tail  was  painted  in  blue  upon  its  side. 

"When  I  bought  it/"  said  Regie,  in  a  strangled  voice, 
"and  it  was  a  great-deal-of-money  cow,  I  did  wish  its  tail 
had  been  out  behind;  but  I  think  now  it  is  safer  like 
that/' 

"All  the  best  cows  have  their  tails  on  the  side,"  said 
Hester.  "  And  to-morrow  morning,  when  you  are  dressed, 
run  up  to  my  room,  and  you  will  find  it  just  like  it  was 
before."  And  she  carefully  put  aside  the  bits  with  the  in- 
jured animal. 

"And  now  what  has  Stella  got?" 

Stella  produced  a  bag  of  "  bullVeyes,"  which,  in  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  cow,  had,  in  the  course  of  the  drive 
home,  cohered  so  tightly  together  that  it  was  doubtful  if 
they  would  ever  be  separated  again. 

"  Fraulein  never  eats  bull's-eyes,"  said  Mary,  who  was 
what  her  parents  called  "a  very  truthful  child." 

"  I  eats  them/'  said  Stella,  reversing  her  small  cauli- 
flower-like person  on  the  sofa  till  only  a  circle  of  white 
rims  with  a  nucleus  of  Coventry  frilling,  with  two  pink 
legs  kicking  gently  upward,  were  visible. 

Stella  always  turned  upsidedown  if  the  conversation 
took  a  personal  turn.  In  later  and  more  conventional 
years  we  find  a  poor  equivalent  for  marking  our  disap- 
proval by  changing  the  subject. 

Hester  had  hardly  set  Stella  right  side  upward  when 
the  door  opened  once  more  and  Mrs.  Gusley  entered,  hot 
and  exhausted. 

"Run  up -stairs,  my  pets/'  she  said.  "Hester,  yon 
should  not  keep  them  down  here  now.  It  is  past  their 
tea-time." 

"We  came  ourselves,  mother,"  said  Regie.  "Fraulein 
said  we  might,  to  show  Auntie  Hester  our  secrets." 

"Well,  never  mind:  run  away  now,"  said  the  poor 
mother,  sitting  down  heavily  in  a  low  chair,  "and  take 
Boulou." 

"You  are  tired  out/''  said  Hester,  slipping  on  to  her 
knees  and  unlacing  her  sister-in-law's  brown  boots. 

90 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mrs.  Gusley  looked  with  a  shade  of  compunction  at  the 
fragile  kneeling  figure,  with  its  face  crimsoned  by  the  act 
of  stooping  and  by  the  obduracy  of  the  dust-ingrained 
boot-laces'.  But  as  she  looked  she  noticed  the  flushed 
cheeks,  and,  being  a  diviner  of  spirits,  wondered  what 
Hester  was  ashamed  of  now. 

As  Hester  rose  her  sister-in-law  held  out,  with  momen- 
tary hesitation,  a  thin  paper  bag,  in  which  an  oval  form 
allowed  its  moist  presence  to  be  discerned  by  partial  ad- 
hesion to  its  envelope. 

"I  saw  you  ate  no  luncheon,  Hester,  so  I  have  brought 
you  a  little  sole  for  supper." 

Some  of  us  poor  Marthas  spend  all  our  existence,  so 
to  speak,  in  the  kitchens  of  life.  We  never  get  so  far  as 
the  drawing-room.  Our  conquests,  our  self-denials,  are 
achieved  through  the  medium  of  suet  and  lard  and  necks 
of  mutton.  We  wrestle  with  the  dripping,  and  rise  on 
stepping-stones — not  of  our  dead  selves,  but  of  sheep  and 
oxen — to  higher  things. 

The  sole  was  a  direct  answer  to  prayer.  Mrs.  Gusley 
had  been  enabled  to  stifle  her  irritation  against  this  deli- 
cate, whimsical,  fine  lady  of  a  sister-in-law — laced  in,  too, 
we  must  not  forget  that — who,  in  Mrs.  Gusley's  ideas, 
knew  none  of  the  real  difficulties  of  life,  its  butcher's 
bills,  its  monthly  nurses,  its  constant  watchfulness  over 
delicate  children,  its  long,  long  strain  at  two  ends  which 
won't  meet.  We  must  know  but  little  of  our  fellow-- 
creatures if  the  damp  sole  in  the  bag  appears  to  us  other 
than  the  outward  and  homely  sign  of  an  inward  and 
spiritual  conquest. 

As  such  Hester  saw  it,  and  she  kissed  Mrs.  Gusley  and 
thanked  her,  and  then  ran,  herself,  to  the  kitchen  with  the 
peace  offering,  and  came  back  with  her  sister-in-law's 
down-at-heel  in-door  shoes. 

Mr.  Gusley  was  stabling  his  bicycle  in  the  hall  as  she 
crossed  it.  He  was  generally  excessively  jocose  with  his 
bicycle.  He  frequently  said,  "  Whoa,  Emma  I"  to  it.  But 
to-day  he,  too,  was  tired,  and  put  Emma  away  in  silence. 

91 


RED    POTTAGE 

When  Hester  returned  to  the  drawing-room  Mrs.  Gusley 
had  recovered  sufficiently  to  notice  her  surroundings.  She 
was  sitting  with  her  tan-stockinged  feet  firmly  planted  on 
the  carpet  instead  of  listlessly  outstretched,  her  eyes  om- 
inously fixed  on  the  tea-table  and  seed-cake. 

Hester's  silly  heart  nudged  her  side  like  an  accomplice. 

"Who  has  been  here  to  tea  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gusley.  "I 
met  the  Pratts  and  the  Thursbys  in  Westhope." 

Hester  was  frightened.  We  need  to  be  in  the  presence 
of  those  who  judge  others  by  themselves. 

"The  Bishop  was  here  and  Eachel  West,"  she  said, 
coloring.  "  They  left  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  Well,  of  all  unlucky  things,  that  James  and  I  should 
have  been  out.  James,  do  you  hear  that  ?  The  Bishop's 
been  while  we  were  away.  And  I  do  declare,  Hester," 
looking  again  at  the  table,  "you  never  so  much  as  asked 
for  the  silver  teapot." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  said  Hester,  ruefully.  I*  as 
almost  impossible  to  her  to  alter  the  habit  of  a  lifetime, 
and  to  remember  to  dash  out  and  hurriedly  change  the 
daily  routine  if  visitors  were  present.  Lady  Susan  had 
always  used  her  battered  old  silver  teapot  every  day,  and 
for  the  life  of  her  Hester  could  not  understand  why  there 
should  be  one  kind  one  day  and  one  kind  another.  She 
glanced  resentfully  at  the  little  brown  earthen-ware  vessel 
which  she  had  wielded  so  carefully  half  an  hour  ago. 
Why  did  she  never  remember  the  Gusleys'  wishes  ? 

"Hester/'  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  suddenly,  taking  new 
note  of  Hester's  immaculate  brown  holland  gown,  which 
contrasted  painfully  with  her  own  dilapidated  pink  shirt 
with  hard  collars  and  cuffs  and  imitation  tie,  tied  for 
life  in  the  shop  where  it  was  born.  "  You  are  so  smart; 
I  do  believe  you  knew  they  were  corning." 

If  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  which  offended 
Hester,  it  was  being  told  that  she  was  smart. 

"  I  trust  I  am  never  smart,"  she  replied,  not  with  any 
touch  of  the  haughtiness  that  some  ignorant  persons  be- 
lieve to  be  the  grand  manner,  but  with  a  subtle  change 

92 


RED    POTTAGE 

of  tone  and  carriage  which  seemed  instantly  to  remove 
her  to  an  enormous  distance  from  the  other  woman  with 
her  insinuation  and  tan  stockings.  Mrs.  Gusley  uncon- 
sciously drew  in  her  feet.  "  I  did  not  know  when  I  dressed 
this  morning  that  the  Bishop  was  coming  to-day." 

' '  Then  you  did  know  later  that  he  was  coming  ?" 

"Yes,  Rachel  West  wrote  to  tell  me  so  this  morning, 
but  I  did  not  open  her  letter  at  breakfast,  and  I  was  so 
vexed  at  being  late  for  luncheon  that  I  forgot  to  mention 
it  then.  I  remembered  as  soon  as  James  had  started, 
and  ran  after  him,  but  he  was  too  far  off  to  hear  me  call 
to  him." 

It  cost  Hester  a  good  deal  to  give  this  explanation,  as 
she  was  aware  that  the  Bishop's  visit  had  been  to  her  and 
to  her  alone. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  judicially,  with  the 
natural  masculine  abhorrence  of  a  feminine  skirmish. 
"  Don't  go  on  making  foolish  excuses,  Hester,  which 
deceive  no  one;  and  you,  Minna,  don't  criticise  Hester's 
clothes.  It  is  the  Bishop's  own  fault  for  not  writing  his 
notes  himself.  He  might  have  known  that  Miss  West 
would  have  written  to  Hester  instead  of  to  me.  I  can't  say 
I  think  Hester  behaved  kindly  towards  us  in  acting  as  she 
did,  but  I  won't  hear  any  more  argument  about  it.  I  de- 
sire the  subject  should  now  drop." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  the  same  tone  in  which 
Mr.  Gusley  closed  morning  service,  and  were  felt  to  be 
final.  He  was  not  in  reality  greatly  chagrined  at  missing 
the  Bishop,  whom  he  regarded  with  some  of  the  suspicious 
distrust  with  which  a  certain  class  of  mind  ever  regards 
that  which  is  superior  to  it.  Hester  left  the  room,  clos- 
ing the  door  gently  behind  her. 

"  James,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  looking  at  her  priest  with 
tears  of  admiration  in  her  eyes,  "I  shall  never  be  good 
like  you,  so  you  need  not  expect  it.  How  you  can  be  so 
generous  and  patient  with  her  I  don't  know.  It  passes 
me." 

"  We  must  all  learn  to  make  allowances  for  each  other," 

93 


RED    POTTAGE 

said  Mr.  Gusley,  in  his  most  affectionate  cornet,  drawing 
his  tired,  tearful  little  wife  down  beside  him  on  the  sofa. 
And  he  made  some  fresh  tea  for  her,  and  waited  on  her, 
and  she  told  him  about  the  children's  boots  and  the  sole, 
and  he  told  her  about  a  remarkable  speech  he  had  made 
at  the  chapter  meeting,  and  a  feeling  that  had  been  borne 
in  on  him  on  the  way  home  that  he  should  shortly  write 
something  striking  about  Apostolic  Succession.  And  they 
were  happy  together;  for  though  he  sometimes  reproved 
her  as  a  priest  if  she  allowed  herself  to  dwell  on  the  proba- 
bility of  his  being  made  a  Bishop,  he  was  very  kind  to  her 
as  a  husband. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"Beware  of  a  silent  dog  and  still  water." 

IF  you  are  travelling  across  Middleshire  on  the  local 
line  between  South  minster  and  Westhope,  after  yon  have 
passed  Wilderleigh  with  its  gray  gables  and  park  wall, 
close  at  hand  you  will  perceive  to  nestle  (at  least,  Mr. 
Gusley  said  it  nestled)  Warpington  Vicarage;  and  per- 
haps, if  you  know  where  to  look,  you  will  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Hester's  narrow  bedroom  window  under  the  roof. 
Half  a  mile  farther  on  Warpington  Towers,  the  gorgeous 
residence  of  the  Pratts,  bursts  into  view,  with  flag  on  tur- 
ret flying,  and  two  tightly  bitted  rustic  bridges  leaping 
high  over  the  Drone.  You  cannot  see  all  the  lodges  of 
Warpington  Towers  from  the  line,  which  is  a  source  of 
some  regret  to  Mr.  Pratt ;  but  if  he  happens  to  be  travel- 
ling with  you  he  will  point  out  two  of  them,  chaste  stucco 
Gothic  erections  with  church  windows,  and  inform  you 
that  the  three  others  are  on  the  northern  and  eastern 
sides,  vaguely  indicating  the  directions  of  Scotland  and 
Ireland. 

And  the  Drone,  kept  in  order  on  your  left  by  the  low 
line  of  the  Slumberleigh  hills,  will  follow  you  and  leave 
you,  leave  you  and  return  all  the  way  to  Westhope.  You 
are  getting  out  at  Westhope,  of  course,  if  you  are  a  Mid- 
dleshire man;  for  Westhope  is  on  the  verge  of  Middle- 
shire,  and  the  train  does  not  go  any  farther — at  least,  it 
only  goes  into  one  of  the  insignificant  counties  which 
jostle  each  other  to  hold  on  to  Middleshire,  unknown 
Saharas,  where  passengers  who  oversleep  themselves  wake 
to  find  themselves  cast  away. 

95 


RED    POTTAGE 

Wesfchope  Abbey  stands  in  its  long,  low  meadows  and 
level  gardens,  close  to  the  little  town,  straggling  red  roof 
above  red  roof,  up  its  steep  cobbled  streets. 

Down  the  great  central  aisle  you  may  walk  on  mossy 
stones  between  the  high  shafts  of  broken  pillars  under 
the  sky.  God's  stars  look  down  once  more  where  the  piety 
of  man  had  for  a  time  shut  them  out.  Through  the 
slender  tracery  of  what  was  once  the  east  window,  in- 
stead of  glazed  saint  and  crucifix,  you  may  see  the  little 
town  clasping  its  hill. 

The  purple  clematis  and  the  small  lizard-like  leaf  of  the 
ivy  have  laid  tender  hands  on  all  that  is  left  of  that  state- 
ly house  of  prayer.  The  pigeons  wheel  round  it,  and  nest 
in  its  niches.  The  soft,  contented  murmur  of  bird  praise 
has  replaced  the  noise  of  bitter  human  prayer.  A  thin 
wind-whipped  grass  holds  the  summit  of  the  broken  walls 
against  all  comers.  The  fallen  stones,  quaintly  carved 
with  angel  and  griffin,  are  going  slowly  back  year  by  year, 
helped  by  the  rain  and  hindered  by  the  frost,  slowly  back 
through  the  sod  to  the  generations  of  human  hands  that 
held  and  hewed  them,  and  fell  to  dust  below  them  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago.  The  spirit  returns  to  the  God  who 
gave  it,  and  the  stone  to  the  hand  that  fashioned  it. 

The  adjoining  monastery  had  been  turned  into  a  dwell- 
ing-house, without  altering  it  externally,  and  it  was  here 
that  Lord  Newhaven  loved  to  pass  the  summer  months. 
Into  its  one  long  upper  passage  all  the  many  rooms 
opened,  up  white  stone  steps  through  arched  doors, 
rooms  which  had  once  been  monks'  dormitories,  abbots' 
cells,  where  Lady  Newhaven  and  her  guests  now  crimped 
their  hair  and  slept  under  down  quilts  till  noon. 

It  was  this  long  passage,  with  its  interminable  row  of 
low  latticed  windows,  that  Lord  Newhaven  was  turning 
into  a  depository  for  the  old  English  weapons  which  he 
was  slowly  collecting.  He  was  standing  now  gazing  lov- 
ingly at  them,  drawing  one  finger  slowly  along  an  inlaid 
arquebus,  when  a  yell  from  the  garden  made  him  turn 
and  look  out. 

96 


RED    POTTAGE 

It  was  not  a  yell  of  anguish,  and  Lord  Newhaven  re- 
mained at  the  window  leaning  on  his  elbows  and  watch- 
ing at  his  ease  the  little  scene  which  was  taking  place 
below  him. 

On  his  bicycle  on  the  smooth -shaven  lawn  was  Dick, 
wheeling  slowly  in  and  out  among  the  stone-edged  flower- 
beds, an  apricot  in  each  broad  palm,  while  he  discoursed 
in  a  dispassionate  manner  to  the  two  excited  little  boys 
who  were  making  futile  rushes  for  the  apricots.  The 
governess  and  Rachel  were  looking  on.  Rachel  had  ar- 
rived at  Westhope  the  day  before  from  South  minster. 
"  Take  your  time,  my  son,"  said  Dick,  just  eluding  by  a 
hair's-breadth  a  charge  through  a  geranium-bed  on  the  part 
of  the  eldest  boy.  "  If  you  are  such  jolly  little  fools  as  to 
crack  your  little  skulls  on  the  sun-dial,  I  shall  eat  them 
both  myself.  Miss  Turner  says  you  may  have  them,  so 
you've  only  got  to  take  them.  I  can't  keep  on  offering 
them  all  day  long.  My  time  " — (Dick  ran  his  bicycle  up  a 
terrace,  and,  as  soon  as  the  boys  were  up,  glided  down 
again) — "  my  time  is  valuable.  You  don't  want  them  ?" 
A  shrill  disclaimer  and  a  fresh  onslaught.  ' '  Miss  Turner, 
they  thank  you  very  much,  but  they  don't  care  for  apri- 
cots." 

Half  a  second  more  and  Dick  skilfully  parted  from  his 
bicycle  and  was  charged  by  his  two  admirers  and  severely 
pummelled  as  high  as  they  could  reach.  When  they  had 
been  led  away  by  Miss  Turner,  each  biting  an  apricot  and 
casting  longing  backward  looks  at  their  friend,  Rachel  and 
Dick  wandered  to  the  north  side  of  the  abbey  and  sat 
down  there  in  the  shade. 

Lord  Newhaven  could  still  see  them,  could  still  note 
her  amused  face  under  her  wide  white  hat.  He  was  do- 
ing his  best  for  Dick,  and  Dick  was  certainly  having  his 
chance,  and  making  the  most  of  it  according  to  his  lights. 

"  But,  all  the  same,  I  don't  think  he  has  a  chance,"  said 

Lord  Newhaven  to  himself.     "  That  woman,  in  spite  of 

her  frank  manner  and  her  self-possession,  is  afraid  of  men ; 

not  of  being  married  for  her  money,  but  of  man  himself. 

G  97 


RED    POTTAGE 

And  whatever  else  he  may  not  be,  Dick  is  a  man.  It's 
the  best  chance  she  will  ever  get,  so  it  is  probable  she 
won't  take  it." 

Lord  Newhaven  sauntered  back  down  the  narrow  black 
oak  staircase  to  his  own  room  on  the  ground-floor.  He 
sat  down  at  his  writing-table  and  took  out  of  his  pocket  a 
letter  which  he  had  evidently  read  before.  He  now  read 
it  slowly  once  more. 

"  Your  last  letter  to  me  had  been  opened/7  wrote  his 
brother  from  India,  "  or  else  it  had  not  been  properly 
closed.  As  you  wrote  on  business,  I  wish  you  would  be 
more  careful." 

(i  I  will,"  said  Lord  ISTewhaven,  and  he  wrote  a  short 
letter  in  his  small,  upright  hand,  closed  the  envelope,  ad- 
dressed and  stamped  it,  and  sauntered  out  through  the 
low-arched  door  into  the  garden. 

Dick  was  sitting  alone  on  the  high -carved  stone  edge  of 
the  round  pool  where  the  monks  used  to  wash,  and  where 
gold-fish  now  lived  cloistered  lives.  A  moment  of  depres- 
sion seemed  to  have  overtaken  that  cheerful  personage. 

"  Come  as  far  as  the  post  -  office,"  [said  Lord  Xew- 
haven. 

Dick  gathered  himself  together,  and  rose  slowly  to  his 
large  feet. 

"You  millionaires  are  all  the  same,"  he  said.  "Be- 
cause you  have  a  house  crawling  with  servants  till  they 
stick  to  the  ceiling  you  have  to  go  to  the  post-office  to  buy 
a  penny  stamp.  It's  like  keeping  a  dog  and  barking  your- 
self." 

"  I  don't  fancy  I  bark  much,"  said  Lord  Newhaven. 

' f  No,  and  you  don't  bite  often,  but  when  you  do  you 
take  out  the  piece.  Do  you  remember  that  colored  chap 
at  Broken  Hill  ?" 

"  He  deserved  it,"  said  Lord  Newhaven. 

"  He  richly  deserved  it.  But  you  took  him  in,  poor 
devil,  all  the  same.  You  were  so  uncommonly  mild  and 
limp  beforehand,  and  letting  pass  things  you  ought  not 
to  have  let  pass,  that,  like  the  low  beast  he  was,  he  thought 

98 


RED    POTTAGE 

he  could  play  you  any  dog's  trick,  and  that  you  would 
never  turn  on  him." 

"  It's  a  way  worms  have." 

"  Oh,  hang  worms ;  it  does  not  matter  whether  they 
turn  or  not.  But  cobras  have  no  business  to  imitate  them 
till  poor  rookies  think  they  have  no  poison  in  them,  and 
that  they  can  tickle  them  with  a  switch.  What  a  great 
hulking  brute  that  man  was  !  You  ricked  him  when  you 
threw  him  !  I  saw  him  just  before  I  left  Adelaide.  He's 
been  lame  ever  since." 

"He'd  have  done  for  me  if  he  could." 

"  Of  course  he  would.  His  blood  was  up.  He  meant 
to  break  your  back.  I  saw  him  break  a  chap's  back  once, 
and  it  did  not  take  so  very  long  either.  I  heard  it  snap. 
But  why  did  you  let  him  go  so  far  to  start  with  before  you 
pulled  him  up  ?  That's  what  I've  never  been  able  to  un- 
derstand about  you.  If  you  behaved  different  to  start 
with  they  would  behave  different  to  you.  They  would 
know  they'd  have  to." 

"I  have  not  your  art,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  tranquilly, 
"  of  letting  a  man  know  when  he's  getting  out  of  hand 
that  unless  he  goes  steady  there  will  be  a  row,  and  he'll  be 
in  it.  I'm  not  made  like  that." 

"  It  works  well,"  said  Dick.  "  It's  a  sort  of  peaceful  way 
of  rubbing  along  and  keeping  friends.  If  you  let  those  poor 
bullies  know  what  to  expect  they  aren't,  as  a  rule,  over- 
anxious to  toe  the  mark.  But  you  never  do  let  them  know." 

"  No,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  as  he  shot  his  letter  into 
the  brass  mouth  in  the  cottage  wall,  just  below  a  window 
of  "  bulls'-eyes"  and  peppermints,  "I  never  do.  I  don't 
defend  it.  But—" 

"  But  what  ?" 

Lord  Newhaven's  face  underwent  some  subtle  change. 
His  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  a  bottle  of  heart-shaped  pep- 
permints, and  then  met  Dick's  suddenly,  with  the  clear, 
frank  glance  of  a  schoolboy. 

"  But  somehow,  for  the  life  of  me,  nntil  things  get 
serious — /  can't." 


RED    POTTAGE 

Dick,  whose  perceptions  were  rather  of  a  colossal  than 
an  acute  order,  nevertheless  perceived  that  he  had  re- 
ceived a  confidence,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  buy  some  stamps  ?"  he  asked,  per- 
fectly aware  that  Lord  Newhaven  had  had  his  reasons  for 
walking  to  the  post-office. 

Lord  Newhaven,  who  was  being  watched  with  affection- 
ate interest  from  behind  the  counter  by  the  grocer  post- 
master, went  in,  hit  his  head  against  a  pendent  ham,  and 
presently  emerged  with  brine  in  his  hair  and  a  shilling's 
worth  of  stamps  in  his  hand. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  he  and  Dick  were  riding  up  the 
little  street,  with  a  view  to  having  a  look  at  the  moor — for 
Middleshire  actually  has  a  grouse  moor,  although  it  is  in 
the  Midlands — the  grocer  in  his  white  apron  rushed  out 
and  waylaid  them. 

"  Very  sorry  about  the  letter,  my  lord,"  he  repeated 
volubly,  touching  his  forelock.  "Hope  her  la'ship  told 
you  as  I  could  not  get  it  out  again,  or  Fm  sure  I  would 
have  done  to  oblige  your  lordship,  and  her  la'ship  calling 
on  purpose.  But  the  post-office  is  that  mean  and  dis- 
trustful as  it  don't  leave  me  the  key,  and  once  hanything 
is  in,  in  it  is." 

"Ah  I"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  slowly.  "Well,  Jones,  it's 
not  your  fault.  I  ought  not  to  have  changed  my  mind.  I 
suppose  her  ladyship  gave  you  my  message  that  I  wanted 
it  back  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  and  her  la'ship  come  herself,  not  ten 
minutes  after  you  was  gone.  But  I've  no  more  power  over 
that  there  receptacle  than  a  h unlaid  hegg,  and  that's  the 
long  and  short  of  it.  I've  allus  said,  and  I  say  it  again, 
*Them  as  have  charge  of  the  post-office  should  have  the 
key.'" 

"  When  I  am  made  postmaster-general  you  shall  have 
it,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  smiling.  (( It  is  the  first  reform 
that  I  shall  bring  about."  And  he  nodded  to  the  smiling, 
apologetic  man  and  trotted  on,  Dick  beside  him,  who  was 
apparently  absorbed  in  the  action  of  his  roan  cob. 

100 


RED    POTTAGE 

But  Dick's  mind  had  sustained  a  severe'  she/ok.  That 
Lady  Newhaven,  "  that  jolly  little  woman,"  the  fond 
mother  of  those  two  "  jolly  little  chaps,"  should  have  been 
guilty  of  an  underhand  trick,  was  astonishing  to  him. 

Poor  Dick  had  started  life  with  a  religious  reverence  for 
woman  ;  had  carried  out  his  brittle  possession  to  bush-life 
in  Australia,  from  thence  through  two  A.D.C. -ships,  and, 
after  many  vicissitudes,  had  brought  it  safely  back  with  a 
large  consignment  of  his  own  Burgundy  to  his  native  land. 
It  was  still  sufficiently  intact — save  for  a  chip  or  two — to 
make  a  pretty  wedding-present  to  his  future  wife.  But 
it  had  had  a  knock  since  he  mounted  the  roan  cob.  For, 
unfortunately,  the  kind  of  man  who  has  what  are  called 
"illusions"  about  women  is  too  often  the  man  whose  dis- 
crimination lies  in  other  directions,  in  fields  where  little 
high-heeled  shoes  are  not  admitted. 

Rachel  had  the  doubtful  advantage  of  knowing  that,  in 
spite  of  Dick's  shrewdness  respecting  shades  of  differ- 
ence in  muscatels,  she  and  Lady  Newhaven  were  never- 
theless ranged  on  the  same  pedestal  in  Dick's  mind  as 
flawless  twins  of  equal  moral  beauty.  But  after  this  par- 
ticular day  she  observed  that  Lady  Newhaven  had  some- 
how slipped  off  the  pedestal,  and  that  she,  Rachel,  had 
the  honor  of  occupying  it  alone. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
"Une  grande  passion  malheureaux  est  un  grand  moyen  de  sagesse." 

RACHEL  had  left  London  precipitately  after  she  had 
been  the  unwilling  confidante  of  Lady  Newhaven's  secret, 
and  had  taken  refuge  with  that  friend  of  all  perplexed 
souls,  the  Bishop  of  Southminster.  She  felt  unable  to 
meet  Hugh  again  without  an  interval  of  breathing-time. 
She  knew  that  if  she  saw  much  more  of  him  he  would 
confide  in  her,  and  she  shrank  from  receiving  a  confi- 
dence the  ugliest  fact  of  which  she  already  knew.  Per- 
haps she  involuntarily  shrank  also  from  fear  lest  he  should 
lower  himself  in  her  eyes  by  only  telling  her  half  the 
truth.  Sad  confessions  were  often  poured  into  Rachel's 
ears  which  she  had  known  for  years.  She  never  alluded 
to  that  knowledge,  never  corrected  the  half-lie  which  ac- 
companies so  many  whispered  self  -  accusations.  Confi- 
dences and  confessions  are  too  often  a  means  of  evasion 
of  justice — a  laying  of  the  case  for  the  plaintiff  before  a 
judge  without  allowing  the  defendant  to  be  present  or 
to  call  a  witness.  Rachel,  by  dint  of  long  experience, 
which  did  slowly  for  her  the  work  of  imagination,  had 
ceased  to  wonder  at  the  faithfully  chronicled  harsh  words 
and  deeds  of  generous  souls.  She  knew  or  guessed  at  the 
unchronicled  treachery  or  deceit  which  had  brought  about 
that  seemingly  harsh  word  or  deed. 

She  had  not  the  exalted  ideas  about  her  fellow-creatures 
which  Hester  had,  but  she  possessed  the  rare  gift  of 
reticence.  She  exemplified  the  text — "Whether  it  be  to 
friend  or  foe,  talk  not  of  other  men's  lives."  And  in 
Each  el's  quiet  soul  a  vast  love  and  pity  dwelt  for  these 

103 


RED    POTTAGE 

same  fellow  -  creatures.  She  had  lived  and  worked  for 
years  among  those  whose  bodies  were  half  starved,  half 
clothed,  degraded.  When  she  found  money  at  her  com- 
mand she  had  spent  sums  (as  her  lawyer  told  her)  out  of 
all  proportion  on  that  poor  human  body,  stumbling  be- 
tween vice  and  starvation.  But  now,  during  the  last  year, 
when  her  great  wealth  had  thrown  her  violently  into  so- 
ciety, she  had  met,  until  her  strong  heart  flinched  before 
it,  the  other  side  of  life — the  starved  soul  in  the  delicate- 
ly nurtured,  richly  clad  body,  the  atrophied  spiritual  life 
in  hideous  contrast  with  the  physical  ease  and  luxury 
which  were  choking  it.  The  second  experience  was  hard- 
er to  bear  than  the  first.  And  just  as  in  the  old  days  she 
had  shared  her  bread  and  cheese  with  those  hungrier  than 
herself,  and  had  taken  but  little  thought  for  those  who 
had  bread  and  to  spare,  so  now  she  felt  but  transient  in- 
terest in  those  among  her  new  associates  who  were  suc- 
cessfully struggling  against  the  blackmail  of  luxury,  the 
leprosy  of  worldliness,  the  selfishness  that  at  last  coffins 
the  soul  it  clothes.  Her  heart  yearned  instead  towards 
the  spiritually  starving,  the  tempted,  the  fallen  in  that 
great  little  world,  whose  names  are  written  in  the  book, 
not  of  life,  but  of  Burke — the  little  world  which  is  called 
"  Society." 

She  longed  to  comfort  them,  to  raise  them  up,  to  wipe 
from  their  hands  and  garments  the  muddy  gold  stains  of 
the  gutter  into  which  they  had  fallen,  to  smooth  away 
the  lines  of  mean  care  from  their  faces.  But  it  had  been 
far  simpler  in  her  previous  life  to  share  her  hard-earned 
bread  with  those  who  needed  it  than  it  was  now  to  share 
her  equally  hard-earned  thoughts  and  slow  gleanings  of 
spiritual  knowledge,  to  share  the  things  which  belonged 
to  her  peace. 

Kachel  had  not  yet  wholly  recovered  from  the  over- 
whelming passion  of  love  which,  admitted  without  fear  a 
few  years  ago,  had  devastated  the  little  city  of  her  heart, 
as  by  fire  and  sword,  involving  its  hospitable  dwellings, 
its  temples,  and  its  palaces  in  one  common  ruin.  Out  of 

103 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  desolation  she  was  unconsciously  rebuilding  her  city, 
but  it  was  still  rather  gaunt  and  bare,  the  trees  had  not 
had  time  to  grow  in  the  streets,  and  there  was  an  ugly 
fortification  round  it  of  defaced,  fire-seared  stones,  which 
had  once  stood  aloft  in  minaret  and  tower,  and  which 
now  served  only  as  a  defence  against  all  comers. 

If  Dick  had  been  in  trouble,  or  rather  if  she  had  known 
the  troubles  he  had  been  through,  and  which  had  made 
his  crooked  month  shut  so  firmly,  Rachel  might  possibly 
have  been  able  to  give  him  something  more  valuable  than 
the  paper  money  of  her  friendship.  But  Dick  was 
obviously  independent.  He  could  do  without  her,  while 
Hugh  had  a  claim  upon  her.  Rachel's  thoughts  turned 
to  Hugh  again  and  ever  again.  Did  he  see  his  conduct 
as  she  saw  it  ?  A  haunting  fear  was  upon  her  that  he  did 
not.  And  she  longed  with  an  intensity  that  outbalanced 
for  the  time  every  other  feeling  that  he  should  confess 
his  sinfully,  entirely — see  it  in  all  its  ugliness,  and  gather 
himself  together  into  a  deep  repentance  before  he  went 
down  into  silence,  or  before  he  made  a  fresh  start  in  life. 
She  would  have  given  her  right  hand  to  achieve  that. 

And  in  a  lesser  degree  she  was  drawn  towards  Lady 
Newhaven.  Lady  Newhaven  was  conscious  of  the  tender 
compassion  which  Rachel  felt  for  her,  and  used  it  to  the 
uttermost ;  but  unfortunately  she  mistook  it  for  admira- 
tion of  her  character,  mixed  with  sympathetic  sorrow  for 
her  broken  heart.  If  she  had  seen  herself  as  Rachel  saw 
her,  she  would  have  conceived,  not  for  herself,  but  for 
Rachel,  some  of  the  aversion  which  was  gradually  distil- 
ling, bitter  drop  by  drop,  into  her  mind  for  her  husband. 
She  would  not  have  killed  him.  She  would  have  thought 
herself  incapable  of  an  action  so  criminal,  so  monstrous. 
But  if  part  of  the  ruin  in  the  garden  were  visibly  trem- 
bling to  its  fall,  she  would  not  have  warned  him  if  he  had 
been  sitting  beneath  it,  nor  would  her  conscience  have 
ever  reproached  her  afterwards. 

"  I  wish  Miss  Gusley  would  come  and  stay  here  instead 
of  taking  you  away  from  me,"  she  said,  plaintively,  to 

104 


RED    POTTAGE 

Rachel  one  morning,  when  she  made  the  disagreeable 
discovery  that  Eachel  and  Hester  were  friends.  "  I  don't 
care  much  about  her  myself,  she  is  so  profane  and  so 
dreadfully  irreligious.  But  Edward  likes  to  talk  to  her. 
He  prefers  artificial  people.  I  wonder  he  did  not  marry 
her.  That  old  cat,  Lady  Susan  Gusley,  was  always  throw- 
ing her  at  his  head.  I  wish  she  was  not  always  persuad- 
ing you  to  leave  me  for  hours  together.  I  get  so  fright- 
ened when  I  am  left  alone  with  Edward.  I  live  in  perpet- 
ual dread  that  he  will  say  something  before  the  children 
or  the  servants.  He  is  quite  cruel  enough." 

"He  will  never  say  anything." 

"  You  are  always  so  decided,  Rachel.  You  don't  see 
possibilities,  and  you  don't  know  him  as  I  do.  He  is 
capable  of  anything.  I  will  write  a  note  now,  and  you 
can  take  it  to  Miss  Gusley,  if  you  must  go  there  to-day." 

"I  wish  to  go  very  much/' 

"  And  you  will  stay  another  week  whether  she  comes 
or  not  ?" 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  before  Rachel  said,  cheer- 
fully, "I  will  stay  another  week,  with  pleasure.  But  I 
am  afraid  Lord  Newhaven  will  turn  restive  at  taking  me 
in  to  dinner." 

"Oh  I  he  likes  you.  He  always  prefers  people  who 
are  not  of  his  own  family." 

Rachel  laughed.     "  You  flatter  rne." 

"  I  never  flatter  any  one.  He  does  like  you,  and,  be- 
sides, there  are  people  coming  next  week  for  the  grouse- 
shooting.  I  suppose  that  heavy  young  Vernon  is  going 
to  lumber  over  with  you.  It's  not  my  fault  if  he  is  always 
running  after  you.  Edward  insisted  on  having  him.  I 
don't  want  him  to  dance  attendance  on  me." 

"  He  and  I  are  going  to  bicycle  to  Warpington  together. 
The  Gusleys  are  cousins  of  his.  If  it  turns  very  hot  we 
will  wait  till  after  sunset  to  return,  if  we  may." 

' '  Just  as  you  like,"  said  Lady  Newhaven  with  asperity. 
"But  I  advise  you  to  be  careful,  my  dear  Rachel.  It 
never  seems  to  occur  to  you  what  on-lookers  see  at  a 

105 


RED    POTTAGE 

glance,  namely,  that  Mr.  Vernon  is  in  love  with  your 
fortune." 

"According  to  public  opinion  that  is  a  very  praise- 
worthy attachment,"  said  Rachel,  who  had  had  about 
enough.  "I  often  hear  it  commended." 

Lady  Newhaven  stared.  That  her  conversation  could 
have  the  effect  of  a  mustard  leaf  did  not  strike  her.  She 
saw  that  Rachel  was  becoming  restive,  and,  of  course, 
the  reason  was  obvious.  She  was  thinking  of  marrying 
Dick. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  laying  down  on  a  low  couch 
near  the  latticed  window,  and  opening  a  novel,  "you 
need  not  be  vexed  with  me  for  trying  to  save  you  from  a 
mercenary  marriage.  I  only  speak  because  I  am  fond  of 
you.  But  one  marriage  is  as  good  as  another.  I  was 
married  for  love  myself  ;  I  had  not  a  farthing.  And  yet 
you  see  my  marriage  has  turned  out  a  tragedy — a  bitter, 
bitter  tragedy. 

Tableau. — A  beautiful,  sad-faced  young  married  woman 
in  white,  reclining  among  pale-green  cushions  near  a  bowl 
of  pink  carnations,  endeavoring  to  rouse  the  higher  feel- 
ings of  an  inexperienced  though  not  youthful  spinster  in 
a  short  bicycling  skirt.  Decidedly,  the  picture  was  not 
flattering  to  Rachel. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"On  s'ennuie  presque  toujours  avec  ceux  qu'on  ennuie." 

HESTER  did  not  fail  a  second  time  to  warn  the  Gusleys  of 
the  arrival  of  guests.  She  mentioned  it  in  time  to  allow 
of  the  making  of  cakes,  and  Mr.  Gusley  graciously  signi- 
fied his  intention  of  returning  early  from  his  parochial 
rounds  on  the  afternoon  when  Dick  and  Eachel  were  ex- 
pected, while  Mrs.  Gusley  announced  that  the  occasion  was 
a  propitious  one  for  inviting  the  Pratts  to  tea. 

"  Miss  West  will  like  to  meet  them,"  she  remarked  to 
Hester,  whose  jaw  dropped  at  the  name  of  Pratt.  "  And 
it  is  very  likely  if  they  take  a  fancy  to  her  they  will  ask 
her  to  stay  at  the  Towers  while  she  is  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. If  the  captain  is  at  home  I  will  ask  him  to  come 
too.  The  Pratts  are  always  so  pleasant  and  hospitable." 

Hester  was  momentarily  disconcerted  at  the  magnitude 
of  the  social  effort  which  Eachel's  coming  seemed  to  en- 
tail. But  for  once  she  had  the  presence  of  mind  not  to 
show  her  dismay,  and  she  helped  Mrs.  Gusley  to  change 
the  crewel-work  antimacassars,  with  their  washed-out  kit- 
tens swinging  and  playing  leap-frog,  for  the  best  tusser- 
silk  ones. 

The  afternoon  was  still  young  when  all  the  preparations 
had  been  completed,  and  Mrs.  Gusley  went  up-stairs  to 
change  her  gown,  while  Hester  took  charge  of  the  chil- 
dren, as  Fraulein  had  many  days  previously  arranged  to 
make  music  with  Dr.  and  Miss  Brown  on  this  particular 
afternoon.  And  very  good  music  it  was  which  proceeded 
out  of  the  open  windows  of  the  doctor's  red  brick  house 
opposite  Abel's  cottage.  Hester  could  just  hear  it  from 

107 


RED    POTTAGE 

the  bottom  of  the  garden  near  the  church-yard  wall,  and 
there  she  took  the  children,  and  under  the  sycamore,  with 
a  bench  round  it,  the  dolls  had  a  tea-party.  Hester  had 
provided  herself  with  a  lump  of  sugar  and  a  biscuit,  and 
on  t  of  these  many  dishes  were  made,  and  were  arranged  on 
a  clean  pocket-handkerchief  spread  on  the  grass.  Eegie 
carried  out  his  directions  as  butler  with  solemn  exacti- 
tude; and  though  Mary,  who  had  inherited  the  paternal 
sense  of  humor,  thought  fit  to  tweak  the  handkerchief 
and  upset  everything,  she  found  the  witticism  so  coldly 
received  by  "Auntie  Hester,"  although  she  explained  that 
father  always  did  it,  that  she  at  once  suited  herself  to  her 
company,  and  helped  to  repair  the  disaster. 

It  was  very  hot.  The  dolls,  from  the  featureless  mid- 
shipman to  the  colossal  professional  beauty  sitting  in  her 
own  costly  perambulator  (a  present  from  Mrs.  Pratt),  felt 
the  heat,  and  showed  it  by  their  moist  countenances.  The 
only  person  who  was  cool  was  a  small,  nude,  china  infant 
in  its  zinc  bath,  the  property  of  Stella,  whose  determina- 
tion to  reach  central  facts,  and  to  penetrate  to  the  root  of 
the  matter,  at  present  took  the  form  of  tearing  or  licking 
off  all  that  could  be  torn  or  licked  from  objects  of  interest. 
Hester,  who  had  presented  her  with  the  floating  baby  in 
the  bath,  sometimes  wondered,  as  she  watched  Stella  con- 
scientiously work  through  a  well-dressed  doll  down  to  its 
stitched  sawdust  compartments,  what  Mr.  Gusley  would 
make  of  his  daughter  when  she  turned  her  attention  to 
theology. 

They  were  all  sitting  in  a  tight  circle  round  the  hand- 
kerchief, Regie  watching  Hester  cutting  a  new  supply  of 
plates  out  of  smooth  leaves  with  her  little  gilt  scissors, 
while  Mary  and  Stella  tried  alternately  to  suck  an  inac- 
cessible grain  of  sugar  out  of  the  bottom  of  an  acorn  cup. 

Rachel  and  Dick  had  come  up  on  their  silent  wheels, 
and  were  looking  at  them  over  the  wall  before  Hester  was 
aware  of  their  presence. 

"  May  we  join  the  tea-party  ?"  asked  Rachel,  and  Hes- 
ter started  violently. 

108 


RED    POTTAGE 

"I  am  afraid  the  gate  is  locked/'  she  said.  "But  per- 
haps you  can  climb  it." 

"We  can't  leave  the  bicycles  outside,  though,"  said 
Dick,  and  he  took  a  good  look  at  the  heavy  padlocked  gate. 
Then  he  slowly  lifted  it  off  its  hinges,  wheeled  in  the  bi- 
cycles, and  replaced  the  gate  in  position. 

Rachel  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  always  do  what  you  want  to  do?"  she  said, 
involuntarily. 

"It  saves  trouble,"  he  said,  "especially  as  no  one  can 
be  such  a  first-class  fool  as  to  think  a  padlock  will  keep  a 
gate  shut.  He  would  expect  it  to  be  opened." 

"  But  father  said  no  one  could  come  in  there  now,"  ex- 
plained Regie,  who  had  watched,  open-mouthed,  the  up- 
heaval of  the  gate.  "  Father  said  it  could  not  be  opened 
any  more.  He  told  mother." 

"Did  he,  my  son  ?"  said  Dick,  and  he  kissed  every  one, 
beginning  with  Hester  and  finishing  with  the  dolls.  Then 
they  all  sat  down  to  the  tea-party,  and  partook  largely  of 
the  delicacies,  and  after  tea  Dick  solemnly  asked  the  chil- 
dren if  they  had  seen  the  flying  half -penny  he  had  brought 
back  with  him  from  Australia.  The  children  crowded 
round  him,  and  the  half-penny  was  produced  and  handed 
round.  Each  child  touched  it,  and  found  it  real.  Auntie 
Hester  and  Auntie  Rachel  examined  it.  Boulou  was  re- 
quested to  smell  it.  And  then  it  was  laid  on  the  grass, 
and  the  pocket-handkerchief  which  had  done  duty  as  a 
table-cloth  was  spread  over  it. 

The  migrations  of  the  half -penny  were  so  extraordi- 
nary that  even  Rachel  and  Hester  professed  amazement. 
Once  it  was  found  in  Rachel's  hand,  into  which  another 
large  hand  had  gently  shut  it.  But  it  was  never  dis- 
covered twice  in  the  same  place,  though  all  the  children 
rushed  religiously  to  look  for  it  where  it  was  last  dis- 
covered. 

Another  time,  after  a  long  search,  the  doll  in  the  bath 
was  discovered  to  be  sitting  upon  it;  and  once  it  actually 
flew  down  Regie's  back ;  and  amid  the  wild  excitement  of 

109 


RED    POTTAGE 

the  children  its  cold  descent  was  described  by  Regie  in 
piercing  minuteness  until  the  moment  when  it  rolled  out 
over  his  stocking  at  his  knee. 

"Make  it  fly  down  my  back  too,  Uncle  Dick/7 shrieked 
Mary.  "  Regie,  give  it  to  me." 

But  Regie  danced  in  a  circle  round  Dick,  holding  aloft 
the  wonderful  half-penny. 

"  Make  it  fly  down  my  throat/'  he  cried,  too  excited  to 
know  what  he  was  doing,  and  he  put  the  half-penny  in  his 
mouth. 

"  Put  it  out  this  instant,"  said  Dick,  without  moving. 

A  moment's  pause  followed,  in  which  the  blood  ebbed 
away  from  the  hearts  of  the  two  women. 

"  I  can't/'  said  Regie ;  '"  I've  swallowed  it."  And  he  be- 
gan to  whimper,  and  then  suddenly  rolled  on  the  grass 
screaming. 

Dick  pounced  upon  him  like  a  panther,  and  held  him  by 
the  feet  head  downward,  shaking  him  violently. 

The  child's  face  was  terrible  to  see. 

Hester  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Rachel  rose  and  stood 
close  to  Dick. 

( f  I  think  the  shaking  is  rather  too  much  for  him,"  she 
said,  watching  the  poor  little  purple  face  intently. 

"  I'm  bound  to  go  on,"  said  Dick,  fiercely.  "  Is  it  mov- 
ing, Regie?" 

"  It's  going  down,"  screamed  Regie,  suddenly. 

"That  it's  not,"  said  Dick,  and  he  shook  the  child 
again,  and  the  half-penny  flew  out  upon  the  grass. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Dick,  and  he  laid  the  gasping  child 
on  Hester's  lap  and  turned  away. 

A  few  minutes  later  Regie  was  laughing  and  talking,  and 
feeling  himself  a  hero.  Presently  he  slipped  off  Hester's 
knee  and  ran  to  Dick,  who  was  lying  on  the  grass  a  few 
paces  off,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands. 

"  Make  the  half-penny  fly  again,  Uncle  Dick/'  cried  all 
the  children,  pulling  at  him. 

Dick  raised  an  ashen  face  for  a  moment  and  said,  hoarse- 
ly, "Take  them  away." 

110 


RED    POTTAGE 

Hester  gathered  np  the  children  and  took  them  back  to 
the  house  through  the  kitchen  garden. 

"Don't  say  we  have  arrived,"  whispered  Rachel  to 
her.  "  I  will  come  on  with  him  presently."  And  she  sat 
down  near  the  prostrate  vine-grower.  The  president  of 
the  South  Australian  Vine  -  Growers'  Association  looked 
very  large  when  he  was  down. 

Presently  he  sat  up.  His  face  was  drawn  and  haggard, 
but  he  met  Rachel's  dog-like  glance  of  silent  sympathy 
with  a  difficult,  crooked  smile. 

"He  is  such  a  jolly  little  chap,"  he  said,  winking  his 
hawk  eyes. 

"It  was  not  your  fault." 

"  That  would  not  have  made  it  any  better  for  the  par- 
ents," said  Dick.  "I  had  time  to  think  of  that  while  I  was 
shaking  that  little  money-box.  Besides,  it  was  my  fault,  in 
a  way.  I'll  never  play  with  other  people's  children  again. 
They  are  too  brittle.  I've  had  shaves  up  the  Fly  River 
and  in  the  South  Sea  Islatids,  but  never  anything  as  bad 
as  this,  in  this  blooming  little  Vicarage  garden  with  a 
church  looking  over  the  wall." 

Hester  was  skimming  back  towards  them. 

"  Don't  mention  it  to  James  and  his  wife,"  she  said  to 
Dick.  "He  has  to  speak  at  a  temperance  meeting  to- 
night. I  will  tell  them  when  the  meeting  is  over." 

"That's  just  as  well,"  said  Dick,  "for  I  know  if  James 
jawed  much  at  me  I  should  act  on  the  text  that  it  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

"In  what  way  ?" 

"  Either  way,"  said  Dick.  "  Tongue  or  fist.  It  does 
not  matter  which,  so  long  as  you  give  more  than  you  get. 
And  the  text  is  quite  right.  It  is  blessed,  for  I've  tried 
it  over  and  over  again,  and  found  it  true  every  time.  But 
I  don't  want  to  try  it  on  James  if  he's  anything  like  what 
he  was  as  a  curate." 

"He  is  not  much  altered,"  said  Hester. 

"He  is  the  kind  of  man  that  would  not  alter  much/' 
said  Dick.  "I  expect  God  Almighty  likes  him  as  he  is." 

Ill 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley,  meanwhile,  were  receiving  Mrs. 
Pratt  and  the  two  Misses  Pratt  in  the  drawing-room.  Se- 
lina  and  Ada  Pratt  were  fine,  handsome  young  women, 
with  long  upper  lips,  who  wore  their  smart  sailor  hats 
tilted  backwards  to  show  their  bushy  fringes,  and  whose 
muff- chains,  with  swinging  pendent  hearts,  silk  blouses 
and  sequin  belts  and  brown  boots  represented  to  Mrs. 
Gusley  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  world  of  fashion. 

Selina  was  the  most  popular,  being  liable  to  shrieks  of 
laughter  at  the  smallest  witticisms,  and  always  ready  for 
that  species  of  amusement  termed  " bally-ragging"  or 
"hay-making."  But  Ada  was  the  most  admired.  She 
belonged  to  that  type  which  in  hotel  society  and  country 
towns  is  always  termed  "  queenly."  She  " kept  the  men  at 
a  distance."  She  "  never  allowed  them  to  take  liberties," 
etc.,  etc.  She  held  her  chin  up  and  her  elbows  out,  and  was 
considered  by  the  section  of  Middleshire  society  in  which 
she  shone  to  be  very  distinguished.  Mrs.  Pratt  was  often 
told  that  her  daughter  looked  like  a  duchess ;  and  this  fac- 
simile of  the  aristocracy,  or  rather  of  the  most  distressing 
traits  of  its  latest  recruits,  had  a  manner  of  lolling  with 
crossed  legs  in  the  parental  carriage  and  pair  which  was 
greatly  admired.  "Looks  as  if  she  was  born  to  it  all," 
Mr.  Pratt  would  say  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Gusley  was  just  beginning  to  fear  her  other  guests 
were  not  coming  when  two  tall  figures  were  seen  walking 
across  the  lawn,  with  Hester  between  them. 

Mr.  Gusley  sallied  forth  to  meet  them,  and  blasts  of 
surprised  welcome  were  borne  into  the  drawing-room  by 
the  summer  air. 

"  But  it  was  locked.     I  locked  it  myself." 

Inaudible  reply. 

"  Padlocked.  Only  opens  to  the  word  Moon.  Key  on 
my  own  watch-chain." 

Inaudible  reply. 

"Hinges!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Very  good,  Dick.  Likely 
story  that.  I  see  you're  the  same  as  ever.  Travellers' 
tales.  But  we  are  not  so  easily  taken  in,  are  we,  Hester  ?" 

112 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mrs.  Gusley  certainly  had  the  gift  of  prophecy  as  far  as 
the  Pratts  were  concerned.  Mrs.  Pratt  duly  took  the  ex- 
pected "fancy"  to  Rachel,  and  pressed  her  to  stay  at 
"  The  Towers"  while  she  was  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
make  further  acquaintance  with  her  "young  ladies." 

"  Ada  is  very  pernickety,"  she  said,  smiling  towards 
that  individual  conversing  with  Dick.  "She  won't  make 
friends  with  everybody,  and  she  gives  it  me"  (with  mater- 
nal pride)  "  when  I  ask  people  to  stay  whom  she  does  not 
take  to.  She  says  there's  a  very  poor  lot  round  here,  and 
most  of  the  young  ladies  so  ill-bred  and  empty  she  does 
not  care  to  make  friends  with  them.  I  don't  know  where 
she  gets  all  her  knowledge  from.  Fm  sure  it's  not  from 
her  mother.  Ada,  now  you  come  and  talk  a  little  to  Miss 
West." 

Ada  rose  with  the  air  of  one  who  confers  a  favor,  and 
Rachel  made  room  for  her  on  the  sofa,  while  Mrs.  Pratt 
squeezed  herself  behind  the  tea-table  with  Mrs.  Gusley. 

The  conversation  turned  on  bicycling. 

"I  bike  now  and  then  in  the  country,"  said  Ada,  "but 
I  have  not  done  much  lately.  We  have  only  just  come 
down  from  town,  and,  of  course,  I  never  bike  in  London." 

Rachel  had  just  said  that  she  did. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  nervous  about  the  traffic,"  said 
Rachel. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  not  the  least  afraid  of  the  traffic,  but  it's 
such  bad  form  to  bike  in  London." 

"  That,  of  course,  depends  on  how  it's  done,"  said 
Rachel ;  "but  I  am  sure  in  your  case  you  need  not  be 
afraid." 

Ada  glared  at  Rachel,  and  did  not  answer. 

When  the  Pratts  had  taken  leave  she  said  to  her 
mother : 

"  Well,  you  can  have  Rachel  West  if  you  want  to,  but  if 
you  do  I  shall  go  away.  She  is  only  Birmingham,  and 
yet  she's  just  as  stuck  up  as  she  can  be." 

The  Pratts  were  "Liverpool." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Pratt  with  natural  pride, 
H  113 


RED    POTTAGE 

f{  it's  well  known  no  one  is  good  enough  for  you.  But  I 
took  to  Miss  West,  and  an  orphan  and  all,  with  all  that 
money,  poor  thing  \" 

"She  has  no  style,"  said  Selina,  "but  she  has  a  nice 
face;  and  she's  coming  to  stay  with  Sibbie  Loftus  next 
week,  when  she  leaves  Vi  Newhaven.  She  may  be  Bir- 
mingham, Ada,  but  she's  just  as  thick  with  county  people 
as  we  are." 

"  I  did  not  rightly  make  out,"  said  Mrs.  Pratt,  reflec- 
tively, "whether  that  tall  gentleman,  Mr.  Vernon,  was 
after  Miss  West  or  Hessie  Gusley." 

"  Oh,  ma  !  You  always  think  some  one's  after  some- 
body else,"  said  Ada,  impatiently,  whose  high  breeding 
obliged  her  to  be  rather  peremptory  with  her  simple  par- 
ent. "Mr.  Vernon  is  a  pauper,  and  so  is  Hessie.  And, 
besides,  Hessie  is  not  the  kind  of  girl  anybody  would  want 
to  marry." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Selina.  "  But  if 
she  had  had  any  chances  I  know  she  would  have  told  me, 
because  I  told  her  all  about  Captain  Cobbett  and  Mr. 
Baxter." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Le  monde  est  plein  de  gens  qui  ne  sont  pas  plus  sages. 

— LA  FONTAINE. 

IF,  after  the  departure  of  the  Pratts,  Eachel  had  hoped 
for  a  word  with  Hester,  she  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. Mr.  Gusley  took  the  seat  on  the  sofa  beside  Rachel 
which  Ada  Pratt  had  vacated,  and  after  a  few  kindly 
eulogistic  remarks  on  the  Bishop  of  Southminster  and 
the  responsibilities  of  wealth,  he  turned  the  conversation 
into  the  well-worn  groove  of  Warpington. 

Rachel  proved  an  attentive  listener,  and  after  Mr.  Gus- 
ley had  furnished  her  at  length  with  nutritious  details 
respecting  parochial  work,  he  went  on  : 

"  I  am  holding  this  evening  a  temperance  meeting  in 
the  Parish  Room.  I  wish,  Miss  West,  that  I  could  per- 
suade you  to  stay  for  it,  and  thus  enlist  your  sympathies 
in  a  matter  of  vital  importance. " 

"They  have  been  enlisted  in  it  for  the  last  ten  years," 
said  Rachel,  who  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  invariable 
assumption  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Gusley  that  no  one  took 
an  interest  in  the  most  obvious  good  work  until  he  had 
introduced  and  championed  it.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  I 
will  stay  with  pleasure." 

Dick,  who  was  becoming  somewhat  restive  under  Mrs. 
Gusley's  inquiries  about  the  Newhavens,  became  suddenly 
interested  in  the  temperance  meeting. 

"  I've  seen  many  a  good  fellow  go  to  the  dogs  through 
drink  in  the  Colonies,  more's  the  pity,"  Dick  remarked. 
"  I  think  Fll  come  too,  James.  And  if  you  want  a  few 
plain  words  you  call  on  me." 

115 


RED    POTTAGE 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  much  gratified.  "I  always 
make  a  point  of  encouraging  the  laity  —  at  least,  those 
among  them  who  are  thoroughly  grounded  in  Church 
teaching — to  express  themselves.  Hear  both  sides,  that 
is  what  I  always  say.  The  Bishop  constantly  enjoins  on 
his  clergy  to  endeavor  to  elicit  the  lay  opinion.  The  chair 
this  evening  will  be  taken  by  Mr.  Pratt,  a  layman." 

The  temperance  meeting  was  to  take  place  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  possibly  Eachel  may  have  been  biassed  in  favor 
of  that  entertainment  by  the  hope  of  a  quiet  half -hour 
with  Hester  in  her  own  room.  At  any  rate,  she  se- 
cured it. 

When  they  were  alone  Rachel  produced  Lady  New- 
haven's  note. 

"Do  come  to  Westhope,"  she  said.  "While  you  are 
under  this  roof  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  see  you,  un- 
less we  are  close  to  it,"  and  she  touched  the  sloping  ceil- 
ing with  her  hand.  u  And  yet  I  came  to  Westhope,  and 
I  am  going  on  to  Wilderleigh,  partly  in  order  to  be  near 
you." 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"  The  book  is  nearly  finished,"  she  said,  the  low  light 
from  the  attic  window  striking  sideways  on  the  small  face 
with  its  tightly  compressed  lips. 

A  spirit  indomitable,  immortal,  looked  for  a  moment 
out  of  Hester's  gray  eyes.  The  spirit  was  indeed  willing, 
but  the  flesh  was  becoming  weaker  day  by  day. 

"When  it  is  finished,"  she  went  on,  "I  will  go  any- 
where and  do  anything,  but  stay  here  I  must  till  it  is 
done.  Besides,  I  am  not  fit  for  society  at  present.  I  am 
covered  with  blue  mould.  Do  you  remember  how  that 
horrid  Lady  Carbury  used  to  laugh  at  the  country  squires' 
daughters  for  being  provincial  ?  I  have  gone  a  peg  lower 
than  being  provincial — I  have  become  parochial." 

A  knock  came  at  the  door,  and  Fraulein's  mild,  musical 
face  appeared  in  the  aperture. 

"  I  fear  to  disturb  you,"  she  said,  "  but  Regie  say  he 
cannot  go  to  sleep  till  he  see  you." 

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Hester  introduced  Fraulein  to  Rachel,  and  slipped 
down-stairs  to  the  night  nursery. 

Mary  and  Stella  were  already  asleep  in  their  high-barred 
cribs.  The  blind  was  down,  and  Hester  could  only  just 
see  the  white  figure  of  Regie  sitting  up  in  his  night-gown. 
She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  took  him  in  her 
arms. 

"What  is  it,  my  treasure?" 

"Auntie  Hester,  was  I  naughty  about  the  flying  half- 
penny ?" 

"No,  darling.     Why?" 

"  Because  mother  always  says  not  to  put  pennies  in  my 
mouth,  and  I  never  did  till  to-day.  And  now  Mary  says 
I  have  been  very  naughty/' 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  Mary  says,"  said  Hester,  with 
a  withering  glance  towards  the  sleeping  angel  in  the  next 
crib,  who  was  only  Mary  by  day.  "  But  you  must  never 
do  it  again,  and  you  will  tell  mother  all  about  it  to- 
morrow." 

"Yes,"  said  Regie;  "but,  but—" 

"  But  what  ?" 

"  Uncle  Dick  did  say  it  was  a  flying  half-penny,  and 
you  said  so,  too,  and  that  other  auntie.  And  I  thought 
it  did  not  matter  putting  in  flying  half-pennies,  only  com- 
mon ones." 

Hester  saw  the  difficulty  in  Regie's  mind. 

"It  felt  common  when  it  was  inside,"  said  Regie, 
doubtfully,  "  and  yet  you  and  Uncle  Dick  did  say  it  was 
a  flying  one." 

Regie's  large  eyes  were  turned  upon  her  with  solemn 
inquiry  in  them.  It  is  crises  like  this  that  our  first  ideals 
are  laid  low. 

Regie  had  always  considered  Hester  as  the  very  soul  of 
honor,  that  mysterious  honor  which  he  was  beginning  to 
dimly  apprehend  through  her  allegiance  to  it,  and  which, 
in  his  mind,  belonged  as  exclusively  to  her  as  the  little 
bedroom  under  the  roof. 

"  Regie,"  said  Hester,  tremulously,  seeing  that  she  had 

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RED    POTTAGE 

unwittingly  put  a  stumbling-block  before  the  little  white 
feet  she  loved,  "  when  we  played  at  the  doll's  tea-party, 
and  you  were  the  butler,  I  did  not  mean  you  were  really  a 
butler,  did  I  ?  I  knew,  and  you  knew,  and  we  all  knew, 
that  you  were  Regie  all  the  time/' 

"Ye-es." 

6 '  It  was  a  game.  And  so  when  Uncle  Dick  found  us 
playing  the  tea-party  game  he  played  another  game  about 
the  flying  half -penny." 

"  Then  it  was  a  common  half-penny,  after  all,"  said 
Regie,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  common  half  -  penny,  only  the  game 
was  that  it  could  fly,  like  the  other  game  was  that  the 
acorn  cups  were  real  teacups.  So  Uncle  Dick  and 
all  of  us  were  not  saying  what  was  not  true.  We  were 
all  playing  at  a  game.  Do  you  understand,  my  little 
mouse  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Regie,  with  another  voluminous  sigh,  and 
Hester  realized,  with  thankfulness,  that  the  half-penny 
and  not  herself  had  fallen  from  its  pedestal.  f '  I  see  now; 
but  when  he  said,  Hi !  Presto  !  and  it  flew  away,  I  thought 
I  saw  it  flying.  Mary  said  she  did.  And  I  suppose  the 
gate  was  only  a  game,  too." 

Hester  felt  that  the  subject  would  be  quite  beyond  her 
powers  of  explanation  if  once  the  gate  were  introduced 
into  it. 

She  laid  Regie  down  and  covered  him. 

"  And  you  will  go  to  sleep  now.  And  I  will  ask  Uncle 
Dick  when  next  he  comes  to  show  us  how  he  did  the 
game  with  the  half -penny." 

"  Yes,"  said  Regie,  dejectedly.  "  Fd  rather  know  what 
there  is  to  be  known.  Only  I  thought  it  was  a  flying  one. 
Good-night,  Auntie  Hester." 

She  stayed  beside  him  a  few  minutes  until  his  even 
breathing  showed  her  he  was  asleep,  and  then  slipped 
back  to  her  own  room.  The  front-door  bellVas  ringing 
as  she  came  out  of  the  nursery.  The  temperance  deputa- 
tion from  Liverpool  had  arrived.  Mr.  Gusley's  voice  of 

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RED    POTTAGE 

welcome  could  be  heard  saying  that  it  was  only  ten  min- 
utes to  seven. 

Accordingly,  a  few  minutes  before  that  hour,  Mr.  Gusley 
and  his  party  entered  the  Parish  Room.  It  was  crammed. 
The  back  benches  were  filled  with  a  large  contingent  of 
young  men,  whose  half-sheepish,  half-sullen  expression 
showed  that  their  presence  was  due  to  pressure.  Why 
the  parishioners  had  come  in  such  numbers  it  would  be 
hard  to  say.  Perhaps  even  a  temperance  meeting  was  a 
change  in  the  dreary  monotony  of  rural  life  at  Warpington. 
Many  of  the  faces  bore  the  imprint  of  this  monotony, 
Rachel  thought,  as  she  refused  the  conspicuous  front  seat 
pointed  out  to  her  by  Mrs.  Gusley,  and  sat  down  near  the 
door  with  Hester. 

Dick,  who  had  been  finishing  his  cigarette  outside,  en- 
tered a  moment  later,  and  stood  in  the  gangway,  entirely 
filling  it  up,  his  eye  travelling  over  the  assembly,  and,  as 
Rachel  well  knew,  looking  for  her.  Presently  he  caught 
sight  of  her,  wedged  in  four  or  five  deep  by  the  last  ar- 
rivals. There  was  a  vacant  space  between  her  and  the 
wall,  but  it  was  apparently  inaccessible.  Entirely  disre- 
garding the  anxious  church-wardens  who  were  waving  him 
forward,  Dick  disappeared  among  the  young  men  at  the 
back,  and  Rachel  thought  no  more  of  him  until  a  large 
Oxford  shoe  descended  quietly  out  of  space  upon  the  empty 
seat  near  her,  and  Dick,  who  had  persuaded  the  young 
men  to  give  him  foot-room  on  their  seats,  and  had  stepped 
over  the  high  backs  of  several  "school  forms/'  sat  down 
beside  her. 

It  was  neatly  done,  and  Rachel  could  not  help  smiling. 
Bat  the  thought  darted  through  her  mind  that  Dick  was 
the  kind  of  man  who,  somehow  or  other,  would  succeed 
where  he  meant  to  succeed,  and  would  marry  the  woman 
he  intended  to  marry.  There  was  no  doubt  that  she  was 
that  woman,  and  as  he  sat  tranquilly  beside  her  she  wished, 
with  a  nervous  tremor,  that  his  choice  had  fallen  on  some 
one  else. 

The  meeting  opened  with  nasal  and  fervent  prayer  on 

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RED    POTTAGE 

the  part  of  a  neighboring  Archdeacon.  No  one  could 
kneel  down  on  the  platform  except  the  dignitaries,  bat 
every  one  pretended  to  do  so.  Mr.  Pratt,  who  was  in  the 
chair,  then  introduced  the  principal  speaker.  Mr.  Pratt's 
face,  very  narrow  at  the  forehead,  became  slightly  wider 
at  the  eyes,  widest  when  it  reached  round  the  corners  of 
the  mouth,  and  finally  split  into  two  long,  parti-colored 
whiskers.  He  assumed  on  these  occasions  a  manner  of 
pontifical  solemnity  towards  his  "humble  brethren/'  ad- 
mirably suited  to  one  who,  after  wrestling  for  many  years 
with  a  patent  oil,  is  conscious  that  he  has  blossomed  out 
into  a  "  county  family." 

The  Warpington  parishioners  listened  to  him  unmoved. 

The  deputation  from  Liverpool  followed,  a  thin,  ascetic- 
looking  man  of  many  bones  and  little  linen,  who  spoke 
with  the  concentrated  fury  of  a  fanatic  against  alcohol 
in  all  its  varieties.  Dick,  who  had  so  far  taken  more  in- 
terest in  Rachel's  gloves,  which  she  had  dropped,  and  with 
which  he  was  kindly  burdening  himself,  than  in  the  pro- 
ceedings, drew  himself  up  and  fixed  his  steel  eyes  on  the 
speaker. 

A  restive  movement  in  the  audience  followed  the  speech, 
which  was  loudly  clapped  by  Mr.  Gusley  and  the  Praits. 

Mr.  Gusley  then  mounted  the  platform. 

Mr.  Gusley  had  an  enormous  advantage  as  a  platform 
speaker,  and  as  a  preacher  in  the  twin  pulpits  of  church 
and  home,  owing  to  the  conviction  that  he  had  penetrated 
to  the  core  of  any  subject  under  discussion,  and  could 
pronounce  judgment  upon  it  in  a  conclusive  manner.  He 
was  wont  to  approach  every  subject  by  the  preliminary 
statement  that  he  had  "threshed  it  out."  This  thresh- 
ing-out had  been  so  thorough  that  there  was  hardly  a  sub- 
ject even  of  the  knottiest  description  which  he  was  unable 
to  dismiss  with  a  few  pregnant  words.  "  Evolution  !  Ha ! 
ha !  Descended  from  an  ape.  I  don't  believe  that  for 
one/'  While  women's  rights  received  their  death-blow 
from  a  jocose  allusion  to  the  woman  following  the  plough 
while  the  man  sat  at  home  and  rocked  the  cradle. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

With  the  same  noble  simplicity  he  grappled  with  the 
difficult  and  complex  subject  of  temperance,  by  which  he 
meant  total  abstinence.  He  informed  his  hearers,  "in 
the  bigoted  tones  of  a  married  teetotaler,"  that  he  had 
gone  to  the  root  of  the  matter — the  roots  were  apparent- 
ly on  the  surface,  and  that  it  was  no  use  calling  black, 
white  and  white  black.-  He  for  one  did  not  believe  in 
muddling  up  black  and  white,  as  some  lukewarm  people 
advocated,  till  they  were  only  a  dirty  gray.  No ;  either 
drink  was  right  or  it  was  wrong.  If  it  was  not  wrong  to  get 
drunk,  he  did  not  know  what  was  wrong.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  compromise.  Alcohol  was  a  servant  of  the  devil, 
and  to  tamper  with  it  was  to  tamper  with  the  Evil  One 
himself.  Touch  not.  Taste  not.  Handle  not.  He  for 
his  part  should  never  side  with  the  devil. 

This  lofty  utterance  having  been  given  time  to  sink  in, 
Mr.  Gusley  looked  round  at  the  sea  of  stolid,  sullen  faces, 
and  concluded  with  saying  that  the  chairman  would  now 
call  upon  his  cousin,  Mr.  Vernon,  to  speak  to  them  on  the 
shocking  evils  he  himself  had  witnessed  in  Australia  as 
the  result  of  drink. 

Dick  was  not  troubled  by  shyness.  He  extricated  him- 
self from  his  seat  with  the  help  of  the  young  men,  and 
slowly  ascended  the  platform.  He  looked  a  size  too  large 
for  it,  and  for  the  other  speakers,  and  his  loose  tweed  suit 
and  heather  stockings  were  as  great  a  contrast  to  the  tight- 
ly buttoned-np  black  of  the  other  occupants  as  were  his 
strong,  keen  face  and  muscular  hands  to  those  of  the  pre- 
vious speakers. 

"  That's  a  man,"  said  a  masculine  voice  behind  Rachel. 
"  He  worn't  reared  on  ditch-water,  you  bet." 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  and  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  Dick. 
"You've  only  got  to  listen  to  me  for  half  a  minute,  and 
you'll  find  out  without  my  telling  you  that  Nature  did  not 
cut  me  out  for  a  speaker.  I'm  no  talker.  I'm  a  working- 
man" — an  admission  which  Mr.  Pratt  would  rather  have 
been  boiled  in  his  own  oil  than  have  made.  "For  the  last 
seven  years  I've  done  my  twelve  hours  a  day,  and  Fve 

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RED    POTTAGE 

come  to  think  more  of  what  a  man  gets  through  with  his 
hands  than  the  sentiments  which  he  can  wheeze  out  after 
a  heavy  meal.  But  Mr.  Gusley  has  asked  me  to  tell  you 
what  I  know  about  drink,  as  I  have  seen  a  good  many 
samples  of  it  in  Australia." 

Dick  then  proceeded,  with  a  sublime  disregard  of  gram- 
mar, and  an  earnestness  that  increased  as  he  went  on,  to 
dilate  on  the  evil  effects  of  drink  as  he  himself  had  wit- 
nessed them.  He  described  how  he  had  seen  men  who 
could  not  get  spirits  make  themselves  drunk  on  "  Pain- 
killer"; how  he  had  seen  strong,  young  station  hands, 
who  had  not  tasted  spirits  for  months,  come  down  from 
the  hills  with  a  hundred  pounds  in  their  pockets,  and 
drink  themselves  into  " doddery"  old  men  in  a  fortnight 
in  the  nearest  township,  where  they  were  kept  drunk  on 
drugged  liquor  till  all  their  hard-earned  wages  were  gone. 

The  whole  room  listened  in  dead  silence.  No  feet  shuf- 
fled. Mr.  Gusley  looked  patronizingly  at  Dick's  splendid 
figure  and  large,  outstretched  hand,  with  the  crooked  mid- 
dle finger,  which  he  had  cut  off  by  mistake  in  the  bush 
and  had  stuck  on  again  himself.  Then  the  young  Vicar 
glanced  smilingly  at  the  audience,  feeling  that  he  had  in- 
deed elicited  a  ( '  lay  opinion  "  of  the  best  kind. 

"  Now  what  are  the  causes  of  all  these  dreadful  things  ?" 
continued  Dick.  "  Fm  speaking  to  the  men  here,  not  the 
women.  What  are  the  causes  of  all  this  poverty  and  vice  and 
scamped  workmanship,  and  weak  eyes  and  shaky  hands,  on 
the  top  of  high  wages  ?  I  tell  you  they  come  from  two 
things,  and  one  is  as  bad  as  the  other.  One  is  drinking 
too  much,  and  the  other  is  drinking  bad  liquor.  Every 
man  who's  worth  his  salt,"  said  Dick,  balancing  his  long 
bent  finger  on  the  middle  of  his  other  palm,  "  should  know 
when  he  has  had  enough.  Some  can  carry  more,  some 
less."  Mr.  Gusley  started  and  signed  to  Dick,  but  Dick 
did  not  notice.  "  Bad  liquor  is  at  the  root  of  half  the 
drunkenness  I  know.  I  don't  suppose  there  are  many  pub- 
licans here  to-night,  for  this  meeting  isn't  quite  in  their 
line;  and  if  there  are,  they  can't  have  come  expecting 

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compliments.  But  if  you  fellows  think  you  get  good 
liquor  at  the  publics  round  here,  I  tell  you  you  are  jolly 
well  mistaken." 

"  Hear !  hear  !"  shouted  several  voices. 

"  I've  been  in  the  course  of  the  last  week  to  most  of  the 
public-houses  in  South  minster  and  Westhope  and  Warp- 
ington  to  see  what  sort  of  stuff  they  sold,  and  upon  my 
soul,  gentlemen,  if  I  settled  in  Warpington  Fd,  I'd  "- 
Dick  hesitated  for  a  simile  strong  enough — "  Fd  turn  tee- 
totaler until  I  left  it  again,  rather  than  swallow  the  snake 
poison  they  serve  out  to  you/7 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr. 
Gusley,  whose  complexion  had  deepened,  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  endeavored  to  attract  Dick's  attention,  but  Dick 
saw  nothing  but  his  audience.  Mr.  Gusley  began  to  speak 
in  his  high,  e '  singsong  "  voice. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  has  mistaken  the  object 
of  this  meeting.  In  short  I  must — " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Dick — "  not  a  bit ;  but  if  the  people 
have  had  enough  of  me  Fll  take  your  chair  while  you  have 
another  innings." 

In  a  moment  the  room  was  in  an  uproar. 

Shouts  of  "  No,  no,"  "  Go  on,"  "  Let  him  speak." 

In  the  tumnlt  Mr.  Gusley's  voice,  instead  of  being  the 
solo,  became  but  as  one  instrument — albeit  a  trombone — in 
an  orchestra. 

"  But  I  thoroughly  agree  with  the  gentlemen  who  spoke 
before  me,"  said  Dick,  when  peace  was  restored.  "  Total 
abstinence  is  a  long  chalk  below  temperance,  but  it's 
better  than  drunkenness  any  day.  And  if  a  man  can't 
get  on  without  three-finger  nips,  let  him  take  the  pledge. 
There  are  one  or  two  here  to-night  who  would  be  the  bet- 
ter for  it.  But,  to  my  thinking,  total  abstinence  is  like  a 
water  mattress.  It  is  good  for  a  sick  man,  and  it's  good 
for  a  man  with  a  weak  will,  which  is  another  kind  of  ill- 
ness. But  temperance  is  for  those  who  are  in  health. 
There  is  a  text  in  the  Bible  about  wine  making  glad  the 
heart  of  man.  That's  a  good  text,  and  one  to  go  on.  As 

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RED    POTTAGE 

often  as  not  texts  are  like  bags,  and  a  man  crams  all  his 
own  rubbish  into  them,  and  expects  yon  to  take  them  to- 
gether. There  are  some  men,  who  ought  to  know  better, 
who  actually  get  out  of  that  text  by  saying  the  Bible  means 
unfermented  liquor  " — Mr.  Gusley  became  purple.  "  Does 
it?  Then  how  about  the  other  place  where  we  hear  of 
new  wine  bursting  old  bottles.  What  makes  them  burst  ? 
Fermentation,  of  course,  as  every  village  idiot  knows. 
No,  I  take  it  when  the  Bible  says  wine  it  means  wine. 
Wine's  fermented  liquor,  and  what's  unfermented  liquor? 
Nothing  but  'pop.'" 

Dick  pronounced  the  last  word  with  profound  contempt, 
which  was  met  with  enthusiastic  applause. 

"My  last  word  to  you,  gentlemen,"  continued  Dick,  "is, 
keep  in  mind  two  points  :  first,  look  out  for  an  honest  pub- 
lican, if  there  is  such  an  article,  who  will  buy  only  the 
best  liquor  from  the  best  sources,  and  is  not  bound  by  the 
breweries  to  sell  any  stuff  they  send  along.  Join  together, 
and  make  it  hot  for  a  bound  publican.  Kick  him  out, 
even  if  he  is  the  Squire's  butler."  Mr.  Pratt's  complexion 
became  apoplectic.  "And  the  second  point  is,  Remember 
some  men  have  heads  and  some  haven't.  It  is  no  use  for  a 
lame  man  entering  for  a  hurdle-race.  A  strong  man  can 
take  his  whack — if  it's  with  his  food — and  it  will  do  him 
good,  while  a  weak  man  can't  hang  up  his  hat  after  the 
first  smile." 

A  storm  of  applause  followed,  which  was  perhaps  all  the 
heartier  by  reason  of  the  furious  face  of  Mr.  Gusley.  Dick 
was  clapped  continuously  as  he  descended  the  platform 
and  slowly  left  the  room,  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  his  to- 
bacco-pouch. A  squad  of  young  men  creaked  out  after 
him,  and  others  followed  by  twos  and  threes,  so  that  the 
mellifluous  voice  of  Mr.  Pratt  was  comparatively  lost,  who, 
disregarding  his  position  as  chairman,  now  rose  to  pour 
oil — of  which,  in  manner  alone,  he  had  always  a  large  sup- 
ply— on  the  troubled  waters.  Mr.  Pratt  had  felt  a  diffi- 
culty in  interrupting  a  member  of  a  county  family,  which 
with  the  eye  of  faith  he  plainly  perceived  Dick  to  be,  and 

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RED    POTTAGE 

at  the  same  time  a  guest  of  "Newhaven's."  The  Pratts 
experienced  in  the  rare  moments  of  their  intercourse  with 
the  Newhavens  some  of  that  sublime  awe,  that  subdued 
rapture,  which  others  experience  in  cathedrals.  Mr.  Pratt 
had  also  taken  a  momentary  pleasure  in  the  defeat  of  Mr. 
Gusley,  who  did  not  pay  him  the  deference  which  he  con- 
sidered due  to  him  and  his  "  seat/'  Mr.  Pratt  always 
expected  that  the  Vicar  should,  by  reason  of  his  small  in- 
come, take  the  position  of  a  sort  of  upper  servant  of  the 
Squire  ;  and  he  had  seen  so  many  instances  of  this  happy 
state  of  things  that  he  was  perpetually  nettled  by  Mr. 
Gusley's  "independent"  attitude;  while  Mr.  Gusley  was 
equally  irritated  by  "  the  impatience  of  clerical  control " 
and  shepherding  which  Mr.  Pratt,  his  largest  and  woolliest 
sheep,  too  frequently  evinced. 

As  the  chairman  benignly  expressed  his  approval  of 
both  views,  and  toned  down  each  to  meet  the  other,  the 
attention  of  the  audience  wandered  to  the  occasional 
laughs  and  cheers  which  came  from  the  school  play-ground. 
And  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  Rachel  emerged  with  the 
stream,  she  saw  Dick  standing  under  the  solitary  lamp-post 
speaking  earnestly  to  a  little  crowd  of  youths  and  men. 
The  laughter  had  ceased.  Their  crestfallen  appearance 
spoke  for  itself. 

"  Well,  good-night,  lads,"  said  Dick,  cordially,  raising 
his  cap  to  them,  and  he  rejoined  Rachel  and  Hester  at  the 
gate. 

When  Dick  and  Rachel  had  departed  on  their  bicycles, 
and  when  the  deputation,  after  a  frugal  supper,  had  retired 
to  rest,  and  when  the  drawing-room  door  was  shut,  then, 
and  not  till  then,  did  Mr.  Gusley  give  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings. 

"  And  he  would  not  stop,"  he  repeated  over  and  over 
again  almost  in  hysterics,  when  the  total-abstinence  hose 
of  his  wrath  had  been  turned  on  Dick  until  every  reser- 
voir of  abuse  was  exhausted.  "I  signed  to  him  ;  I  spoke 
to  him.  You  saw  me  speak  to  him,  Minna,  and  he  would 
not  stop." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Hester  experienced  that  sudden  emotion  which  may  re- 
sult either  in  tears  or  laughter  at  the  cruel  anguish  brought 
upon  her  brother  by  the  momentary  experience  of  what  he 
so  ruthlessly  inflicted. 

"He  talked  me  down,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  his  voice  shak- 
ing. "He  opposed  me  in  my  own  school-room.  Of 
course,  I  blame  myself  for  asking  him  to  speak.  I  ought 
to  have  inquired  into  his  principles  more  thoroughly,  but 
he  took  me  in  entirely  by  saying  one  thing  in  this  room 
and  the  exact  opposite  on  the  platform." 

"  I  thought  his  views  were  the  same  in  both  places," 
said  Hester,  "  and,  at  the  time,  I  admired  you  for  asking 
him  to  speak,  considering  he  is  a  vine-grower." 

"  A  what  ?"  almost  shrieked  Mr.  Gusley. 

"A  vine-grower.  Surely  you  know  he  has  one  of  the 
largest  vineyards  in  South  Australia  ?" 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Gusley  was  bereft  of  speech. 

"And  you  knew  this  and  kept  silence,"  he  said  at  last, 
while  Mrs.  Gusley  looked  reproachfully,  but  without  sur- 
prise, at  her  sister-in-law. 

"  Certainly.  What  was  there  to  speak  about  ?  I  thought 
you  knew." 

"  I  never  heard  it  till  this  instant.  That  quite  accounts 
for  his  views.  He  wants  to  push  his  own  wines.  Of 
course,  drunkenness  is  working  for  his  interests.  I  un- 
derstand it  all  now.  He  has  undone  the  work  of  years  by 
that  speech  for  the  sake  of  booking  a  few  orders.  It  is 
contemptible.  I  trust,  Hester,  he  is  not  a  particular  friend 
of  yours,  for  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  speak  very  strongly 
to  him  if  he  comes  again." 

But  Dick  did  not  appear  again.  He  was  off  and  away 
before  the  terrors  of  the  Church  could  be  brought  to  bear 
on  him. 

But  his  memory  remained  green  at  Warpington. 

"  They  do  say,"  said  Abel  to  Hester  a  few  days  later, 
planting  his  spade  on  the  ground,  and  slowly  scraping  off 
upon  it  the  clay  from  his  nailed  boots,  "  as  that  Muster 
Vernon  gave  'em  a  dusting  in  the  school-yard  as  they  won't 

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RED    POTTAGE 

forget  in  a  hurry.  He  said  he  could  not  speak  out  before 
the  women  folk,  but  he  was  noways  nesh  to  pick  his  words 
oust  he  was  outside.  Barnes  said  as  his  tongue  'ud  'ave 
raised  blisters  on  a  hedge  stake.  But  he  had  a  way  with 
him  for  all  that.  There  was  a  deal  of  talk  about  him  at 
market  last  Wednesday,  and  Jones  and  Peg  is  just  silly  to 
go  back  to  Australy  with  'im.  I  ain't  sure,"  continued 
Abel,  closing  the  conversation  by  a  vigorous  thrust  of  his 
spade  into  the  earth,  "  as  one  of  the  things  that  fetched 
'em  all  most  wasn't  his  saying  that  since  he's  been  in  a 
hot  climate  he  knowed  what  it  was  to  be  tempted  himself 
when  he  was  a  bit  down  on  his  luck  or  a  bit  up.  Pratts 
would  never  have  owned  to  that/'  The  village  always 
spoke  of  Mr.  Pratt  in  the  plural  without  a  prefix.  "  Fve 
been  to  a  sight  of  temperance  meetings,  because,"  with 
indulgence,  "  master  likes  it,  tho'  I  always  has  my  glass, 
as  is  natural.  But  I  never  heard  one  of  the  speakers  kind 
of  settle  to  it  like  that.  That's  what  the  folks  say  ;  that 
for  all  he  was  a  born  gentleman  he  spoke  to  'em  as  man  to 
man,  not  as  if  we  was  servants  or  chiider." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Le  bruit  est  pour  le  fat. 
La  plainte  est  pour  le  sot. 
L'honn^te  homme  trompe 
S'en  va  et  ne  dit  mot. 

— M.  DELANOTU. 

so  you  cannot  persuade  Miss  Gusley  to  come  to 
us  next  week  ?"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  strolling  into  the 
dining-room  at  Westhope  Abbey,  where  Rachel  and  Dick 
were  sitting  at  a  little  supper-table  laid  for  two  in  front  of 
the  high  altar.  The  dining-room  had  formerly  been  the 
chapel,  and  the  carved  stone  altar  still  remained  under  the 
east  window. 

Lord  Newhaven  drew  up  a  chair,  and  Rachel  felt  vague- 
ly relieved  at  his  presence.  He  had  a  knack  of  knowing 
when  to  appear  and  when  to  efface  himself. 

' '  She  can't  leave  her  book,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Her  first  book  was  very  clever,"  said  Lord  Newhaven, 
"and,  what  was  more,  it  was  true.  I  hope  for  her  own 
sake  she  will  outgrow  her  love  of  truth,  or  it  will  make 
deadly  enemies  for  her." 

"  And  good  friends,"  said  Rachel. 

ee  Possibly,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  looking  narrowly  at 
her,  and  almost  obliged  to  believe  that  she  had  spoken 
without  self- consciousness.  "But  if  she  outgrows  all 
her  principles,  I  hope,  at  any  rate,  she  won't  outgrow  her 
sharp  tongue.  I  liked  her  ever  since  she  first  came  to 
this  house,  ten  years  ago,  with  Lady  Susan  Gusley.  I  re- 
member saying  that  Captain  Pratt,  who  called  while  she 
was  here,  was  a  '  bounder/  And  Miss  Gusley  said  she 
did  not  think  he  was  quite  a  bounder,  only  on  the  boun- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

dary-line.  If  you  knew  Captain  Pratt,  that  describes  him 
exactly." 

"I  wish  she  had  not  said  it,"  said  Eachel,  with  a  sigh. 
"She  makes  trouble  for  herself  by  saying  things  like  that. 
Is  Lady  Newhaven  in  the  drawing-room  ?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  her  singing  'The  Lost  Chord'  not  ten 
minutes  ago." 

"  I  will  go  up  to  her,"  said  Kachel. 

(f  I  do  believe,"  said  Lord  ISTewhaven,  when  Rachel  had 
departed,  "  that  she  has  an  affection  for  Miss  Gusley." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  be  a  detective  in  plain  clothes 
to  see  that,"  said  Dick. 

"No.  It  generally  needs  to  be  a  magnifying-glass  to 
see  a  woman's  friendship,  and  then  they  are  only  expe- 
dients till  we  arrive,  Dick.  You  need  not  be  jealous  of 
Miss  Gusley.  Miss  West  will  forget  all  about  her  when 
she  is  Mrs.  Vernon." 

"She  does  not  seem  very  keen  about  that,"  said  Dick, 
grimly.  "  I'm  only  marking  time.  I'm  no  forwarder  than 
I  was." 

"Well,  it's  your  own  fault  for  fixing  your  affections  on 
a  woman  who  is  not  anxious  to  marry.  She  has  no  objec- 
tion to  you.  It  is  marriage  she  does  not  like." 

"  Oh,  that's  bosh  !"  said  Dick.  "  All  women  wish  to  be 
married,  and  if  they  don't  they  ought  to." 

He  felt  that  an  invidious  reflection  had  been  cast  on 
Rachel. 

"  All  the  same,  a  man  with  one  eye  can  see  that  women 
with  money,  or  anything  that  makes  them  independent  of 
us,  don't  flatter  us  by  their  alacrity  to  marry  us.  They 
will  make  fools  of  themselves  for  love — none  greater — and 
they  will  marry  for  love.  But  their  different  attitude 
towards  us,  their  natural  lords  and  masters,  directly  we 
are  no  longer  necessary  to  them  as  stepping-stones  to  a 
home  and  a  recognized  position,  revolts  me.  If  you  had 
taken  my  advice  at  the  start,  you  would  have  made  up  to 
one  among  the  mob  of  women  who  are  dependent  on 
marriage  for  their  very  existence.  If  a  man  goes  into 
i  129 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  herd  he  will  not  be  refused.  And  if  he  is  it  does 
not  matter.  It  is  the  blessed  custom  of  piling  every- 
thing on  to  the  eldest  son,  and  leaving  the  women  of  the 
family  almost  penniless,  which  provides  half  of  us  with 
wives  without  any  trouble  to  ourselves.  Whatever  we 
are,  they  have  got  to  take  us.  The  average  dancing 
young  woman  living  in  luxury  in  her  father's  house  is 
between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  We  are  frequent- 
ly the  devil ;  but  ifc  is  not  surprising  that  she  can't 
face  the  alternative  —  a  poverty  to  which  she  was  not 
brought  up,  and  in  which  she  has  seen  her  old  spinster 
aunts.  But  I  suppose  in  your  case  you  really  want  the 
money  ?" 

Dick  looked  rather  hard  at  Lord  Newhaven. 

"  I  should  not  have  said  that  unless  I  had  known  it  to 
be  a  lie/'  continued  the  latter,  "  because  I  dislike  being 
kicked.  But,  Dick,  listen  to  me.  You  have  not/'  with 
sudden  misgiving,  ' ( laid  any  little  matrimonial  project 
before  her  this  evening,  have  you  ?" 

"No ;  I  was  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  that." 

"Well  !  Such  things  do  occur.  Moonlight,  you  know, 
etc.  I  was  possessed  by  a  devil  once,  and  proposed  by 
moonlight,  as  all  my  wife's  friends  know,  and  probably 
her  maid.  But,  seriously,  Dick,  you  are  not  making  prog- 
ress, as  you  say  yourself." 

"  Well !"  rather  sullenly. 

"Well,  on-lookers  see  most  of  the  game.  Miss  West 
may — I  don't  say  she  is — but  if  things  go  on  as  they  are 
for  another  week  she  may  become  slightly  bored.  That 
was  why  I  joined  you  at  supper.  She  had  had,  for  the 
time,  enough." 

"  Of  me  ?"  said  Dick,  reddening  under  his  tan. 

"Just  so.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  importance  after  mar- 
riage, but  it  should  be  avoided  beforehand.  Are  you 
really  in  earnest  about  this  ?" 

Dick  delivered  himself  slowly  and  deliberately  of  cer- 
tain platitudes. 

"Well,  I  hope  I  shall  hear  you  say  all  that  again  some 

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RED    POTTAGE 

day  in  a  condensed  form  before  a  clergyman.     In  the 
meanwhile — " 

"  In  the  meanwhile  I  had  better  clear  out." 
"Yes;  I  don't  enjoy  saying  so  in  the  presence  of  my 
own  galantine  and  mayonnaise,  but  that  is  it.     Go,  and — 
come  back." 

"  If  you  have  a  Bradshaw,"  said  Dick,  "  Fll  look  out 
my  train  now.  I  think  there  is  an  express  to  London 
about  seven  in  the  morning,  if  you  can  send  me  to  the 
station." 

"But  the  post  only  comes  in  at  eight." 
"Well,  you  can  send  my  letters  after  me." 
"I  dare  say  I  can,  my  diplomatist.     But  you  are  not 
going  to  leave  till  the  post  has  arrived,  when  you  will  re- 
ceive business  letters  requiring  your  immediate  presence 
in  London.    You  are  not  going  to  let  a  woman  know  that 
you  leave  on  her  account." 

"You  are  very  sharp,  Cackles,"  said  Dick,  drearily. 
"And  I'll  take  a  leaf  out  of  your  book  and  lie,  if  you 
think  it  is  the  right  thing.  But  I  expect  she  will  know 
very  well  that  the  same  business  which  took  me  to  that 
infernal  temperance  meeting  has  taken  me  to  London." 

Eachel  was  vaguely  relieved  when  Dick  went  off  next 
morning.  She  was  not,  as  a  rule,  oppressed  by  the  atten- 
tions she  received  from  young  men,  which  in  due  season 
became  "  marked,"  and  then  resulted  in  proposals  neatly 
or  clumsily  expressed.  But  she  was  disturbed  when  she 
thought  of  Dick,  and  his  departure  was  like  the  removal 
of  a  weight,  not  a  heavy,  but  still  a  perceptible  one.  For 
Eachel  was  aware  that  Dick  was  in  deadly  earnest,  and 
that  his  love  was  growing  steadily,  almost  unconsciously, 
was  accumulating  like  snow,  flake  by  flake,  upon  a  moun- 
tain-side. Some  day,  perhaps  not  for  a  long  time,  but 
some  day,  there  would  be  an  avalanche,  and,  in  his  own 
language,  she  "  would  be  in  it." 

131 


CHAPTER  XX 

Si  Ton  vous  a  trahi,  ce  n'est  pas  la  trahison  qui  importe  ;  c'est  le 
pardon  qu'elle  a  fait  naltre  dans  votre  ame. .  .  .  Mais  si  la  trahison 
n'a  pas  accru  la  simplicite,  la  confiance  plus  haute,  1'etendue  de 
1'amour,  on  vous  aura  trahi  bien  inutilement,  et  vous  pouvez  vous 
dire  qu'il  n'est  rien  arrive. — MAETERLINCK. 

RACHEL  and  Hester  were  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the 
ch arch-yard  wall  where  Hester  had  so  unfortunately  fallen 
asleep  on  a  previous  occasion.  It  was  the  first  of  many 
clandestine  meetings.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gnsley  did  not  real- 
ize that  Hester  and  Rachel  wished  to  "talk  secrets,"  as 
they  would  have  expressed  it,  and  Rachel's  arrival  was 
felt  by  the  Gusleys  to  be  the  appropriate  moment  to  mo- 
mentarily lay  aside  their  daily  avocations,  and  to  join 
Hester  and  Rachel  in  the  garden  for  social  intercourse. 
The  Gusleys  liked  Rachel.  Listeners  are  generally  liked. 
Perhaps  also  her  gentle,  unassuming  manner  was  not  an 
unpleasant  change  after  the  familiar  nonchalance  of  the 
Pratts. 

The  two  friends  bore  their  fate  for  a  time  in  inward 
impatience,  and  then,  not  without  compunction,  "prac- 
tised to  deceive."  Certain  obtuse  persons  push  others, 
naturally  upright,  into  eluding  and  outwitting  them,  just 
as  the  really  wicked  people,  who  give  vivd  voce  invitations, 
goad  us  into  crevasses  of  lies,  for  which,  if  there  is  any 
justice  anywhere,  they  will  have  to  answer  at  the  last  day. 
Mr.  Gusleygave  the  last  shove  to  Hester  and  Rachel  by  an 
exhaustive  harangue  on  what  he  called  socialism.  Find- 
ing they  were  discussing  some  phase  of  it,  he  drew  up  a 
chair  and  informed  them  that  he  had  f '  threshed  out " 
the  whole  subject. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  Socialism,"  he  began,  delighted  with  the  polite  resig- 
nation of  his  hearers,  which  throughout  life  he  mistook 
for  earnest  attention.  "Community  of  goods.  People 
don't  see  that  if  everything  were  divided  up  to-day,  and 
everybody  was  given  a  shilling,  by  next  week  the  thrifty 
man  would  have  a  sovereign,  and  the  spendthrift  would 
be  penniless.  Community  of  goods  is  impossible  as  long 
as  human  nature  remains  what  it  is.  But  I  can't  knock 
that  into  people's  heads.  I  spoke  of  it  once  to  Lord 
Newhaven,  after  his  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords.  I 
thought  he  was  more  educated  and  a  shade  less  thought- 
less than  the  idle  rich  usually  are,  and  that  he  would  see 
it  if  it  was  put  plainly  before  him.  But  he  only  said  my 
arguments  were  incontrovertible,  and  slipped  away." 

It  was  after  this  conversation,  or  rather  monologue, 
that  Hester  and  Rachel  arranged  to  meet  by  stealth. 

They  were  sitting  luxuriously  in  the  short  grass,  with 
their  backs  against  the  church-yard  wall,  and  their  hats 
tilted  over  their  eyes. 

"I  wish  I  had  met  this  Mr.  Dick  five  or  six  years  ago," 
said  Rachel,  with  a  sigh. 

Hester  was  the  only  person  who  knew  about  Rachel's 
previous  love  disaster. 

"Dick  always  gets  what  he  wants  in  the  long  run,"  said 
Hester.  "  I  should  offer  to  marry  him  at  once,  if  I  were 
you.  It  will  save  a  lot  of  trouble,  and  it  will  come  to  just 
the  same  in  the  end." 

Rachel  laughed,  but  not  light-heartedly.  Hester  had 
only  put  into  words  a  latent  conviction  of  her  own  which 
troubled  her. 

"Dick  is  the  right  kind  of  man  to  marry,"  continued 
Hester,  dispassionately.  ee  What  lights  he  has  he  lives  up 
to.  If  that  is  not  high  praise,  I  don't  know  what  is.  He 
is  good,  but  somehow  his  goodness  does  not  offend  one. 
One  can  condone  it.  And,  if  you  care  for  such  things,  he 
has  a  thorough-going  respect  for  women,  which  he  carries 
about  with  him  in  a  little  patent  safe  of  his  own." 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  a  man  for  his  qualities  and 

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RED    POTTAGE 

mental  furniture/'  said  Rachel,  wearily.     "  If  I   did  I 
would  take  Mr.  Dick." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Rachel  at  last,  "that  you  do  not 
realize  how  commonplace  I  am.  You  know  those  conven- 
tional heroines  of  second-rate  novels,  who  love  tremen- 
dously once,  and  then,  when  things  go  wrong,  promptly 
turn  into  marble  statues,  and  go  through  life  with  hearts 
of  stone  ?  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  just  like  that.  I  know 
it's  despicable.  I  have  struggled  against  it.  It  is  idiotic 
to  generalize  from  one  personal  experience.  I  keep  before 
my  mind  that  other  men  are  not  like  him.  I  know  they 
aren't,  but  yet  —  somehow  I  think  they  are.  I  am  fright- 
ened." 

Hester  turned  her  wide  eyes  towards  her  friend. 

"Do  you  still  consider,  after  these  four  years,  that  lie  did 
you  an  injury  ?" 

Rachel  looked  out  upon  the  mournful  landscape.  The 
weariness  of  midsummer  was  upon  it.  A  heavy  hand 
seemed  laid  upon  the  brow  of  the  distant  hills. 

"I  gave  him  everything  I  had,"  she  said,  slowly,  "and 
he  threw  it  away.  I  have  nothing  left  for  any  one  else. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  naturally  economical,"  she 
added,  smiling  faintly,  "  that  it  seems  now,  looking  back, 
such  a  dreadful  waste." 

"Only  in  appearance,  not  in  reality,"  said  Hester.  "  It 
looks  like  a  waste  of  life,  that  mowing  down  of  our  best 
years  by  a  relentless  passion  which  itself  falls  dead  on  the 
top  of  them.  But  it  is  not  so.  Every  year  I  live  I  am 
more  convinced  that  the  waste  of  life  lies  in  the  love  we 
have  not  given,  the  powers  we  have  not  used,  the  selfish 
prudence  which  will  risk  nothing,  and  which,  shirking 
pain,  misses  happiness  as  well.  No  one  ever  yet  was  the 
poorer  in  the  long-run  for  having  once  in  a  lifetime  '  let 
out  all  the  length  of  all  the  reins/" 

"You  mean  it  did  me  good,"  said  Rachel,  "and  that  he 
was  a  kind  of  benefactor  in  disguise.  I  dare  say  you  are 
right,  but  you  see  I  don't  take  a  burning  interest  in  my 

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own  character.  I  don't  find  my  mental  stand-point — isn't 
that  what  Mrs.  Loftus  calls  it  ?  —  very  engrossing." 

"  He  was  a  benefactor,  all  the  same/'  said  Hester,  with 
decision.  "  I  did  not  think  so  at  the  time,  and  if  I  could 
have  driven  over  him  in  an  omnibus  I  would  have  done  so 
with  pleasure.  But  I  believe  that  the  day  will  come  when 
you  will  cover  that  grave  with  a  handsome  monument, 
erected  out  of  gratitude  to  him  for  not  marrying  you. 
And  now,  Rachel,  will  you  forgive  me  beforehand  for  what 
I  am  going  to  say  ?" 

"Oh!"  said  Rachel,  ruefully.  "When  you  say  that  I 
know  it  is  the  prelude  to  something  frightful.  You  are 
getting  out  a  dagger,  and  I  shall  be  its  sheath  directly." 

"You  are  a  true  prophet,  Rachel." 

"Yes,  executioner." 

"  My  dear,  dear  friend,  whom  I  love  best  in  the  world, 
when  that  happened  my  heart  was  wrung  for  you.  I 
would  have  given  everything  I  had,  life  itself  —  not  that 
that  is  saying  much  —  to  have  saved  you  from  that  hour." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  But  I  should  have  been  the  real  enemy  if  I  had  had 
power  to  save  you,  which,  thank  God!  I  had  not.  That 
hour  had  to  be.  It  was  necessary.  You  may  not  care 
about  your  own  character,  but  I  do.  There  is  something 
stubborn  and  inflexible  in  you  — •  the  seamy  side  of  your 
courage  and  steadfastness  —  which  cannot  readily  enter 
into  the  feelings  of  others  or  put  itself  in  their  place.  I 
think  it  is  want  of  imagination  —  I  mean  the  power  of 
seeing  things  as  they  are.  You  are  the  kind  of  woman 
who,  if  you  had  married  comfortably  some  one  you  rather 
liked,  might  have  become  like  Sybell  Loftus,  who  never 
'understands  any  feeling  beyond  her  own  microscopic  ones, 
and  who  measures  love  by  her  own  small  preference  for 
Doll.  You  would  have  had  no  more  sympathy  than  she 
has.  People,  like  Sybell,  believe  one  can  only  sympathize 
with  what  one  has  experienced.  That  is  why  they  are  al- 
ways saying, e  as  a  mother,'  or  f  as  a  wife.'  If  that  were  true 
the  world  would  have  to  get  on  without  sympathy,  for  no 

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two  people  have  the  same  experience.  Only  a  shallow  nat- 
ure believes  that  a  resemblance  in  two  cups  means  that 
they  both  contain  the  same  wine.  Sybell  believes  it,  and 
you  would  have  been  very  much  the  same,  not  from  lack 
of  perception,  as  in  her  case,  but  from  want  of  using  your 
powers  of  perception.  If  you  had  not  undergone  an  ago- 
nized awakening,  all  the  great  realities  of  life — love,  hatred, 
temptation,  enthusiasm  —  would  have  remained  for  you 
as  they  have  remained  for  Sybell,  merely  pretty  words  to 
string  on  light  conversation.  That  is  why  I  can't  bear  to 
hear  her  speak  of  them,  because  every  word  she  says 
proves  she  has  not  known  them.  But  the  sword  that 
pierced  your  heart  forced  an  entrance  for  angels,  who  had 
been  knocking  where  there  was  no  door  —  until  then." 

Silence. 

"  Since  when  is  it  that  people  have  turned  to  you  for 
comfort  and  sympathy  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Rachel,  on  your  oath,  did  you  ever  really  care  for  the 
London  poor  until  ypu  became  poor  yourself,  and  lived 
among  them  ?" 

"No." 

"  But  they  were  there  all  the  time.  You  saw  them  in 
the  streets.  It  was  not  as  if  you  only  heard  of  them. 
You  saw  them.  Their  agony,  their  vice,  was  written 
large  on  their  faces.  There  was  a  slum  almost  at  the 
back  of  that  great  house  in  Portman  Square  where  you 
lived  many  years  in  luxury  with  your  parents." 

"  Don't,"  said  Rachel,  her  lip  trembling. 

"  I  must.  You  did  not  care  then.  If  a  flagrant  case 
came  before  you  you  gave  something  like  other  unchari- 
table people  who  hate  feeling  uncomfortable.  But  you 
care  now.  You  seek  out  those  who  need  you.  Answer  me. 
Were  they  cheaply  bought  or  not,  that  compassion  and 
love  for  the  degraded  and  the  suffering  which  were  the 
outcome  of  your  years  of  poverty  in  Museum  Buildings  ?" 

"  They  were  cheaply  bought,"  said  Rachel,  with  convic- 
tion, speaking  with  difficulty. 

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"  Would  you  have  learned  them  if  you  had  gone  on  liv- 
ing in  Portman  Square  ?" 

"  Oh,  Hester  !  would  anybody  ?" 

"Yes,  they  would.  But  that  is  not  the  question. 
Would  your 

"N— no,"  said  Rachel. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

Rachel's  mind  took  its  staff  and  travelled  slowly,  hum- 
bly, a  few  more  difficult  steps  up  that  steep  path  where 
"  Experience  is  converted  into  thought  as  a  mulberry-leaf 
is  converted  into  satin." 

At  last  she  turned  her  grave  eyes  upon  her  friend. 

"I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  said  ;  "I  have  not  reached 
the  place  yet;  but  I  can  believe  that  I  shall  come  to  it 
some  day,  when  I  shall  feel  as  thankful  for  that  trouble 
as  I  feel  now  for  having  known  poverty.  Yes,  Hester, 
you  are  right.  I  was  a  hard  woman,  without  imagination. 
I  have  been  taught  in  the  only  way  I  could  learn — by  ex- 
perience. I  have  been  very  fortunate." 

Hester  did  not  answer,  but  bent  down  and  kissed 
Rachel's  hands.  It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "Forgive  me 
for  finding  fault  with  one  so  far  above  me."  And  the 
action  was  so  understood. 

Rachel  colored,  and  they  sat  for  a  moment  hand  close 
in  hand,  heart  very  near  to  heart. 

"  How  is  it  you  are  so  sure  of  these  things,  Hester  ?" 
said  Rachel,  in  a  whisper.  "  When  you  say  them  I  see 
they  are  true,  and  I  believe  them,  but  how  do  you  know 
them  ?" 

A  shadow,  a  very  slight  one,  fell  across  Hester's  face. 
"'Love  knows  the  secret  of  grief.'  But  can  Love  claim 
that  knowledge  if  he  is  asked  how  he  came  by  it  by  one 
who  should  have  known  ?"  The  question  crept  in  be- 
tween the  friends  and  moved  them  apart.  Hester's  voice 
altered. 

"Minna  would  say  that  I  picked  them  up  from  the  con- 
versation of  James.  You  know  the  Pratts  are  perfectly 
aware  of  what  I  have,  of  course,  tried  to  conceal,  namely, 

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that  the  love-scenes  in  the  Idyll  were  put  together  from 
scraps  I  had  collected  of  James's  engagement  to  Minna. 
And  all  the  humorous  bits  are  claimed  by  a  colony  of 
cousins  in  Devonshire  who  say  that  any  one  '  who  had 
heard  them  talk'  could  have  written  the  Idyll.  And 
any  one  who  had  not  heard  them  apparently.  The  so- 
called  profane  passages  are  all  that  are  left  to  me  as  my 
own." 

"You  are  profane  now,"  said  Rachel,  smiling,  but  se- 
cretly wounded  by  the  flippancy  which  she  had  brought 
upon  herself. 

A  distant  whoop  distracted  their  attention,  and  they 
saw  Regie  galloping  towards  them,  imitating  a  charger, 
while  Fraulein  and  the  two  little  girls  followed. 

Regie  stopped  short  before  Rachel,  and  looked  suspi- 
ciously at  her. 

' <  Where  is  Uncle  Dick  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rachel,  reddening,  in  spite  of  her- 
self, and  her  eyes  falling  guiltily  before  her  questioner. 

"  Then  he  has  not  come  with  you  ?" 

Regie's  mind  was  what  his  father  called  "  sure  and 
steady."  Mr.  Gusley  often  said  he  preferred  a  child  of 
that  kind  to  one  that  was  quick-witted  and  flashy. 

"  No,  he  has  not  come  with  me." 

"Mary!"  shrieked  Regie,  "he  has  not  come." 

"I  knew  he  had  not,"  said  Mary.  "When  I  saw  he 
was  not  there  I  knew  he  was  somewhere  else." 

Dear  little  Mary  was  naturally  the  Gusleys'  favorite 
child.  However  thoroughly  they  might  divest  themselves 
of  parental  partiality,  they  could  not  but  observe  that  she 
was  as  sensible  as  a  grown-up  person. 

"  I  thought  he  might  be  somewhere  near,"  explained 
Regie,  "in  a  tree  or  something,"  looking  up  into  the  lit- 
tle yew.  "You  can't  tell  with  a  conjurer  like  Uncle  Dick, 
can  you,  Auntie  Hester,  whatever  Mary  may  say  ?" 

"Mary  is  generally  wrong,"  said  Hester,  "but  she  is 
right  for  once." 

Mary,  who  was  early  acquiring  the  comfortable  habit  of 

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RED    POTTAGE 

hearing  only  the  remarks  that  found  an  echo  in  her  own 
breast,  heard  that  she  was  right,  and  said,  shrilly : 

"  I  told  Regie  when  we  was  still  on  the  road  that  Uncle 
Dick  wasn't  there.  Mother  doesn't  always  go  with  father, 
but  he  said  he'd  run  and  see." 

"We  shall  be  ver'r  late  for  luncheon,"  said  Fraulein, 
hastily,  blushing  down  to  the  onyx  brooch  at  her  turn- 
down collar,  and  drawing  Mary  away. 

"  Perhaps  he  left  the  half -penny  with  you,"  said  Regie. 
"  Fraulein  would  like  to  see  it." 

"No,  no,"  said  Fraulein,  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I  do 
not  vish  at  all.  I  cry  half  the  night  when  I  hear  of  it." 

"  I  only  cry  when  baby  beats  me,"  said  Mary,  balancing 
on  one  leg. 

"  I  have  not  got  the  half -penny,"  said  Rachel,  the  three 
elders  studiously  ignoring  Mary's  personal  reminiscences. 

The  children  were  borne  away  by  Fraulein,  and  the 
friends  kissed  and  parted. 

"I  am  coming  to  Wilderleigh  to-morrow,"  said  Rachel. 
"  I  shall  be  much  nearer  to  you  then." 

"  It  is  no  good  contending  against  Dick  and  fate,"  said 
Hester,  shaking  her  finger  at  her.  "You  see  it  is  all  de- 
cided for  you.  Even  the  children  have  settled  it." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

If  a  fool  be  associated  with  a  wise  man  all  his  life,  he  will  per- 
ceive the  truth  as  little  as  a  spoon  perceives  the  taste  of  soup. — 
Buddhist  Dhammapada. 

"  I  CAN'T  think  what  takes  you  to  Wilderleigh,"  said 
Lady  Newhaven  to  Rachel.  "  I  am  always  bored  to  death 
when  I  go  there.  Sybell  is  so  self-centred." 

Perhaps  one  of  the  reasons  why  Lady  Newhaven  and 
Sybell  Loftus  did  not  "get  on  "  was  owing  to  a  certain 
superficial  resemblance  between  them. 

Both  exacted  attention,  and  if  they  were  in  the  same 
room  together  it  seldom  contained  enough  attention  to 
supply  the  needs  of  both.  Both  were  conscious,  like 
"Celia  Chettam,"  that  since  the  birth  of  their  first  child 
their  opinions  respecting  literature,  politics,  and  art  had 
acquired  additional  weight  and  solidity,  and  that  a  wife 
and  mother  could  pronounce  with  decision  on  important 
subjects  where  a  spinster  would  do  well  to  hold  her  peace. 
Each  was  fond  of  saying,  "As  a  married  woman  I  think 
this  or  that";  yet  each  was  conscious  of  dislike  and  irri- 
tation when  she  heard  the  other  say  it.  And  there  is  no 
doubt  that  Sybell  had  been  too  unwell  to  appear  at  Lady 
Newhaven's  garden-party  the  previous  summer,  because 
Lady  Newhaven  had  the  week  before  advanced  her  cher- 
ished theory  of  "one  life  one  love,"  to  the  delight  of  Lord 
Newhaven  and  the  natural  annoyance  of  Sybell,  whose 
second  husband  was  at  that  moment  handing  tea  and  an- 
swering "That  depends"  when  appealed  to. 

"As  if,"  as  Sybell  said  afterwards  to  Hester,  "'a  woman 
can  help  being  the  ideal  of  two  men." 

"Sybell  is  such  a  bore  now,"  continued  Lady  New- 

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haven,  "that  I  don't  know  what  she  will  be  when  she 
is  older.  I  don't  know  why  you  go  to  Wilderleigh,  of  all 
places." 

"  I  go  because  I  arn  asked,"  said  Rachel,  "  and  partly 
because  I  shall  be  near  Hester  G-usley." 

"  I  don't  think  Miss  G-usley  can  be  very  anxious  to  see 
you,  or  she  would  have  come  here  when  I  invited  her.  I 
told  several  people  she  was  coming,  and  that  Mr.  Oar- 
stairs,  who  thinks  so  much  of  himself,  came  on  purpose 
to  meet  her.  It  is  very  tiresome  of  her  to  behave  like 
that,  especially  as  she  did  not  say  she  had  any  engage- 
ment. You  make  a  mistake,  Rachel,  in  running  after 
people  who  won't  take  any  trouble  to  come  and  see  you. 
It  is  a  thing  I  never  do  myself." 

"She  is  buried  in  her  book  at  present." 

te  I  can't  think  what  she  has  to  write  about.  But  I 
suppose  she  picks  up  things  from  other  people." 

"  I  think  so.     She  is  a  close  observer." 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong  there,  Rachel,  for  when  she 
was  here  some  years  ago  she  never  looked  about  her  at 
all.  And  I  asked  her  how  she  judged  of  people,  and  she 
said,  '  By  appearances/  Now  that  was  very  silly,  be- 
cause, as  I  explained  to  her,  appearances  were  most  de- 
ceptive, and  I  had  often  thought  a  person  with  a  cold 
manner  was  cold-hearted,  and  afterwards  found  I  was 
quite  mistaken." 

Rachel  did  not  answer.  She  wondered  in  what  the  gift 
consisted,  which  Lady  Newhaven  and  Sybell  both  pos- 
sessed, of  bringing  all  conversation  to  a  stand-still. 

"  It  seems  curious,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  after  a  pause, 
<e  how  the  books  are  mostly  written  by  the  people  who  know 
least  of  life.  Now,  the  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. 
People  think  so  much  of  them.  I  was  looking  at  them 
the  other  day.  Why,  they  are  nothing  to  what  I  have 
felt.  I  sometimes  think  if  /  wrote  a  book — I  don't  mean 
that  I  have  any  special  talent — but  if  I  really  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  book  with  all  the  deep  side  of  life  in  it,  and 
one's  own  religious  feelings,  and  described  love  and  love's 

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RED    POTTAGE 

tragedy  as  they  really  are,  what  a  sensation  it  would  make  ! 
It  would  take  the  world  by  storm." 

"  Any  book  dealing  sincerely  with  one  of  those  subjects 
could  not  fail  to  be  a  great  success." 

"  Oh  yes.  I  am  not  afraid  I  should  fail.  I  do  wish 
you  were  not  going,  Rachel.  We  have  so  much  in  com- 
mon. And  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  be  with  some  one  who 
knows  what  one  is  going  through.  I  believe  you  feel  the 
suspense,  too,  for  my  sake." 

"I  do  feel  it— deeply." 

"I  sometimes  think/'  said  Lady  Newhaven,  her  face 
aging  suddenly  under  an  emotion  so  disfiguring  that 
Rachel's  eyes  fell  before  it  —  "I  am  sometimes  almost 
certain  that  Edward  drew  the  short  lighter.  Oh  !  do  you 
think  if  he  did  he  will  really  act  up  to  it  when  the  time 
comes  ?" 

"  If  he  drew  it  he  will  certainly  take  the  consequences." 

<f  Will  he,  do  you  think  ?  I  am  almost  sure  he  drew  it. 
He  is  doing  so  many  little  things  that  look  as  if  he  knew 
he  were  not  going  to  live.  I  heard  Mr.  Carstairs  ask  him 
to  go  to  Norway  with  him  next  spring,  and  Ed  ward  laughed, 
and  said  he  never  looked  more  than  a  few  months  ahead." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  may  have  said  that  intending  you  to 
hear  it." 

"  But  he  did  not  intend  me  to  hear  it.     I  overheard  it." 

Rachel's  face  fell. 

"  You  did  promise  after  you  told  me  about  the  letter 
that  you  would  never  do  that  kind  of  thing  again." 

"  Well,  Rachel,  I  have  not.  I  have  not  even  looked  at 
his  letters  since.  I  could  not  help  it  that  once,  because  I 
thought  he  might  have  told  his  brother  in  India.  But 
don't  you  think  his  saying  that  to  Mr.  Carstairs  looks — " 

Rachel  shook  her  head. 

"  He  is  beyond  me,"  she  said.  "  There  may  be  some- 
thing more  behind  which  we  don't  know  about." 

"I  have  a  feeling,  it  has  come  over  me  again  and  again 
lately,  that  I  shall  be  released,  and  that  Hugh  and  I  shall 
be  happy  together  yet." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

And  Lady  Newhaven  turned  her  face  against  the  high 
back  of  her  carved  oak  chair  and  sobbed  hysterically. 

"  Could  you  be  happy  if  you  had  brought  about  Lord 
Newbaven's  death  ?"  said  Eachel. 

Her  voice  was  full  of  tender  pity,  not  for  the  crouching 
unhappiness  before  her,  but  for  the  poor  atrophied  soul. 
Could  she  reach  it  ?  She  would  have  given  everything 
she  possessed  at  that  moment  for  one  second  of  Christ's 
power  to  touch  those  blind  eyes  to  sight. 

"  How  can  you  say  such  things  ?  I  should  not  have 
brought  it  about.  I  did  not  even  know  of  that  dreadful 
drawing  of  lots  till  the  thing  was  done.  That  was  all  his 
own  doing." 

Kachel  sighed.  The  passionate  yearning  towards  her 
companion  shrank  back  upon  herself. 

"  The  fault  is  in  me,"  she  said  to  herself.  "If  I  were 
purer,  humbler,  more  loving,  I  might  have  been  allowed 
to  help  her." 

Lady  Newhaven  rose,  and  held  Eachel  tightly  in  her 
arms. 

"I  count  the  days,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  shaking  from 
head  to  foot.  "  It  is  two  months  and  three  weeks  to-day. 
November  the  twenty-ninth.  You  will  promise  faithfully 
to  come  to  me  and  be  with  me  then  ?  You  will  not  de- 
sert me  ?  Whatever  happens  you  will  be  sure — to  come  ?" 

(t  I  will  come.  I  promise,"  said  Eachel.  And  she 
stooped  and  kissed  the  closed  eyes.  She  could  at  least  do 
that. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Brother,  thy  tail  hangs  down  behind. 

— Song  of  the  Bandar-log. 

EACHEL  arrived  after  tea  at  Wilderleigh,  and  went 
straight  to  her  room  on  a  plea  of  fatigue.  It  was  a  mo- 
mentary cowardice  that  tempted  her  to  yield  to  her 
fatigue.  She  felt  convinced  that  she  should  meet  Hugh 
Scarlett  at  Wilderleigh.  She  had  no  reason  for  the  con- 
viction beyond  the  very  inadequate  one  that  she  had  met 
him  at  SybelFs  London  house.  Nevertheless,  she  felt  sure 
that  he  would  be  among  the  guests,  and  she  longed  for  a 
little  breathing-space  after  parting  with  Lady  Newhaven 
before  she  met  him.  Presently  Sybell  flew  in  and  em- 
braced her  with  effusion. 

"  Oh  !  what  you  have  missed  !"  she  said,  breathlessly. 
"  But  you  do  look  tired.  You  were  quite  right  to  lie 
down  before  dinner,  only  you  aren't  lying  down.  We  have 
had  such  a  conversation  down-stairs.  The  others  are  all 
out  boating  with  Doll  but  Mr.  Hervey,  the  great  Mr.  Her- 
vey,  you  know." 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  know." 

"Oh  yes,  you  do.     The  author  of  Unashamed." 

"  I  remember  now." 

"Well,  he  is  here,  resting  after  his  new  book,  Rahal). 
And  he  has  been  reading  us  the  opening  chapters,  just  to 
Miss  Barker  and  me.  It  is  quite  wonderful.  So  painful, 
you  know.  He  does  not  spare  the  reader  anything;  he 
thinks  it  wrong  to  leave  out  anything — but  so  powerful !" 

"  Is  it  the  same  Miss  Barker  whom  I  met  at  your  house 
in  the  season,  who  denounced  The  Idyll?" 

"Yes.  How  she  did  cut  it  up !  You  see,  she  knows  all 

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abont  East  London,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  knew  you 
would  like  to  meet  her  again  because  you  are  philan- 
thropic, too.  She  hardly  thought  she  could  spare  the 
time  to  come,  but  she  thought  she  would  go  back  fresher 
if  the  wail  were  out  of  her  ears  for  a  week.  The  wail  ! 
Isn't  it  dreadful  ?  I  feel  we  ought  to  do  more  than  we 
do,  don't  you  ?" 

"We  ought,  indeed." 

"  But  then,  you  see,  as  a  married  woman,  I  can't  leave 
my  husband  and  child  and  bury  myself  in  the  East  End, 
can  I  ?" 

(f  Of  course  not.  But  surely  it  is  an  understood  thing 
that  marriage  exempts  women  from  all  impersonal  du- 
ties." 

"Yes,  that  is  just  it.  How  well  you  put  it !  But  others 
could.  I  often  wonder  why,  after  writing  The  Idyll,  Hes- 
ter never  goes  near  East  London.  I  should  have  gone 
straight  off,  and  have  cast  in  my  lot  with  them  if  I  had 
been  in  her  place." 

"  Do  you  ever  find  people  do  what  you  would  have  done 
if  you  had  been  in  their  place  ?" 

"No,  never.  They  don't  seem  to  see  it.  It's  a  thing 
I  can't  understand  the  way  people  don't  act  up  to  their 
convictions.  And  I  do  know,  though  I  would  not  tell 
Hester  so  for  worlds,  that  the  fact  that  she  goes  on  liv- 
ing comfortably  in  the  country  after  bringing  out  that 
book  makes  thoughtful  people,  not  me,  of  course,  but 
other  earnest-minded  people,  think  she  is  a  humbug." 

"It  would — naturally,"  said  Eachel. 

"  Well,  now  I  am  glad  you  agree  with  me,  for  I  said 
something  of  the  same  kind  to  Mr.  Scarlett  last  night, 
and  he  could  not  see  it.  He's  rather  obtuse.  I  dare  say 
you  remember  him  ?" 

"Perfectly." 

"  I  don't  care  about  him,  he  is  so  superficial,  and  Miss 

Barker  says  he  is  very  lethargic  in  conversation.     I  asked 

him  because — don't  breathe  a  word  of  it — but  because,  as 

a  married  woman,  one  ought  to  help  others,  and  —  do 

K  145 


RED    POTTAGE 

you  remember  how  he  stood  up  for  Hester  that  night  in 
London  ?" 

"For  her  book,,  you  mean." 

"  Well,  it's  all  one.  Men  are  men,  my  dear.  Let  me 
tell  you  he  would  never  have  done  that  if  he  had  not  been 
%  love  with  her." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  men  never  defend  obvious  truths 
Unless  they  are  in  love  ?" 

"Now  you  are  pretending  to  misunderstand  me,"  said 
Sybell,  joyously,  making  her  little  squirrel  face  into  a  be- 
coming pout.  "But  it's  no  use  trying  to  take  me  in. 
And  it's  coming  right.  He's  there  at  this  moment !" 

"At  the  Vicarage  ?" 

1  { Where  else  ?  I  asked  him  to  go.  I  urged  him.  I 
said  I  felt  sure  she  expected  him.  One  must  help  on 
these  things." 

"But  if  he  is  obtuse  and  lethargic  and  superficial,  is  he 
likely  to  suit  Hester  ?" 

"My  dear,  the  happiest  lot  for  a  woman  is  marriage. 
And  you  and  I  are  Hester's  friends.  So  we  ought  to  do 
all  we  can  for  her  happiness.  That  is  why  I  just  men- 
tioned this." 

The  dressing-gong  began  to  boom. 

"I  must  fly,"  said  Sybell,  depositing  a  butterfly  kiss  on 
Rachel's  forehead.  And  she  flew. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  felt  about  him,"  said  Rachel  to 
herself.  "I  don't  much  like  hearing  him  called  obtuse 
and  superficial,  but  I  suppose  I  should  like  still  less  to 
hear  Sybell  praise  him.  I  have  never  heard  her  praise 
anything  but  mediocrity  yet." 

If  Rachel  had  been  at  all  introspective  she  might  have 
found  a  clew  to  her  feeling  for  Hugh  in  the  unusual  care 
with  which  she  arranged  her  hair,  and  her  decision  at  the 
last  moment  to  discard  the  pale-green  gown  lying  in  state 
on  the  bed  for  a  white  satin  one  embroidered  at  long  inter- 
vals with  rose-colored  carnations.  The  gown  was  a  master- 
piece, designed  especially  for  her  by  a  great  French  milliner. 
Rachel  often  wondered  whose  eyesight  had  been  strained 

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over  those  marvellous  carnations,  but  to-night  she  did  not 
give  them  a  thought.  She  looked  with  grave  dissatisfac- 
tion at  her  pale,  nondescript  face  and  nondescript  hair  and 
eyes.  She  did  not  know  that  only  women  with  marriage- 
able daughters  saw  her  as  she  saw  herself  in  the  glass. 

As  she  left  her  room  a  door  opened  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  same  wing,  and  a  tall  man  came  out.  The  middle- 
class  element  in  her  said,  "Superfine."  His  fastidious 
taste  said,  "A  plain  woman/' 

In  another  instant  they  recognized  each  other. 

"  Superfine  !  What  nonsense,"  she  thought,  as  she  met 
his  eager,  tremulous  glance. 

"A  plain  woman.  Rachel  plain  \"  He  had  met  the 
welcome  in  her  eyes,  and  there  was  beauty  in  every  move- 
ment, grace  in  every  fold  of  her  white  gown. 

As  they  met  the  gong  suddenly  boomed  out  close  be- 
neath them,  and  they  could  only  smile  at  each  other  as 
they  shook  hands.  The  butler,  who  was  evidently  an 
artist  in  his  way,  proved  the  gong  to  the  uttermost ;  and 
they  had  descended  the  staircase  together,  and  had 
crossed  the  hall  before  its  dying  tremors  allowed  them  to 
speak. 

As  he  was  about  to  do  so  he  saw  her  wince  suddenly. 
She  was  looking  straight  in  front  of  her  at  the  little  crowd 
in  the  drawing-room.  For  an  instant  her  face  turned 
from  white  to  gray,  and  she  involuntarily  put  out  her 
hand  as  if  to  ward  off  something.  Then  a  lovely  color 
mounted  to  her  cheek ;  she  drew  herself  up  and  entered 
the  room,  while  Hugh,  behind  her,  looked  fiercely  at  each 
man  in  succession. 

It  is  always  the  unexpected  that  happens.  As  Rachel's 
half-absent  eyes  passed  over  the  group  in  the  brilliantly 
lighted  drawing-room  her  heart  reared,  without  warning, 
and  fell  back  upon  her.  She  had  only  just  sufficient 
presence  of  mind  to  prevent  her  hand  pressing  itself 
against  her  heart.  He  was  there  ;  he  was  before  her — the 
man  whom  she  had  loved  with  passion  for  four  years,  and 
who  had  tortured  her. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  Hervey  (the  great  Mr.  Hcrvey)  strode  forward,  and 
Rachel  found  her  hand  engulfed  in  a  large  soft  hand,  which 
seemed  to  have  a  poached  egg  in  the  palm. 

"  This  is  a  pleasure  to  which  I  have  long  looked  for- 
ward," murmured  the  great  man,  all  cuff  and  solitaire, 
bending  in  what  he  would  have  termed  a  "  chivalrous 
manner  "  over  Rachel's  hand  ;  while  Doll,  standing  near, 
wondered  drearily  "  why  these  writing  chaps  were  always 
such  bounders/' 

Rachel  passed  on  to  greet  Miss  Barker,  standing  on  the 
hearthrug,  this  time  in  magenta  velveteen,  but  presum- 
ably still  tired  of  the  Bible,  conversing  with  Rachel's 
former  lover,  whose  eyes  were  on  the  floor  and  whose 
hand  gripped  the  mantel-piece.  He  had  seen  her — recog- 
nized her. 

"  May  I  introduce  Mr.  Tristram  ?"  said  Sybell  to  Rachel. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  Rachel,  gently,  as  he  bowed 
without  looking  at  her,  and  she  put  out  her  hand. 

He  was  obliged  to  touch  it,  obliged  to  meet  for  one 
moment  the  clear,  calm  eyes  that  had  once  held  boundless 
love  for  him,  boundless  trust  in  him  ;  that  had,  as  he  well 
knew,  wept  themselves  half  blind  for  him. 

Mr.  Tristram  was  one  of  the  many  who  judge  their  ac- 
tions in  the  light  of  after- circumstances,  and  who  tow- 
ards middle-age  discover  that  the  world  is  a  treacherous 
world.  He  had  not  been  "  in  a  position  to  marry"  when 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Rachel.  But  he  had  been  as 
much  in  love  with  her  as  was  consistent  with  a  permanent 
prudential  passion  for  himself  and  his  future — that  future 
which  the  true  artist  must  ever  preserve  untrammelled. 
"  High  hopes  faint  on  a  warm  hearthstone/'  etc.  He  had 
felt  keenly  breaking  with  Rachel.  Later  on,  when  a  tide 
of  wealth  flowed  up  to  the  fifth  floor  of  Museum  Buildings, 
he  had  recognized,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had  made  a 
great  mistake  in  life.  To  the  smart  of  baffled  love  had 
been  added  acute  remorse,  not  so  much  for  wealth  missed 
as  for  having  inflicted  upon  himself  and  upon  her  a  fright- 
ful and  unnecessary  pain.  But  how  could  he  have  fore- 

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seen  such  a  thing  ?  How  could  he  tell  ?  he  had  asked 
himself,  in  mute  stupefaction,  when  the  news  reached  him. 
What  a  cheat  life  was  !  What  a  fickle  jade  was  Fortune  ! 

Since  the  memorable  day  when  Rachel  had  found  means 
to  lay  the  ghost  that  haunted  her  he  had  made  no  sign. 

"  I  hardly  expected  you  would  remember  me/'  he  said, 
catching  at  his  self-possession. 

"I  have  a  good  memory,"  she  said,  aware  that  Miss 
Barker  was  listening  and  that  Hugh  was  bristling  at  her 
elbow.  "  And  the  little  Spanish  boy  whom  you  were  so 
kind  to,  and  who  lodged  just  below  me  in  Museum  Build- 
ings, has  not  forgotten  either.  He  still  asks  after  the 
'  Cavalier.'' 

"  Mr.  Tristram  is  positively  blushing  at  being  con- 
fronted with  his  good  deeds/'  said  Sybell,  intervening  on 
discovering  that  the  attention  of  some  of  her  guests  had 
been  distracted  from  herself.  "Yes,  darling" — to  her 
husband — "  you  take  in  Lady  Jane  Mr.  Scarlett,  will 
you  take  in  Miss  West  ?" 

"I  have  been  calling  on  your  friend,  Miss  Gusley /'  said 
Hugh,  after  he  had  overcome  his  momentary  irritation  at 
finding  Mr.  Hervey  was  on  Rachel's  other  side.  "I  did 
not  know  until  her  brother  dined  here  last  night  that  she 
lived  so  near  " 

"  Did  not  Mrs  Loftus  tell  you  ?"  said  Rachel,  with  a  re- 
membrance of  SybelFs  remarks  before  dinner. 

"  She  told  rne  after  I  had  mentioned  my  wish  to  go  and 
see  her.  She  even  implored  me  so  repeatedly  to  go  that 
I—" 

"  Nearly  did  not  go  at  all." 

"  Exactly.  But  in  this  case  I  persevered  because  I  am, 
or  hope  I  am,  a  friend  of  hers  But  I  was  not  rewarded." 

"  T  thought  you  said  you  had  seen  her." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  saw  her,  and  I  saw  that  she  looked  very  ill. 
But  I  found  it  impossible  to  have  any  conversation  with 
her  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley.  WThenever 
I  spoke  to  her  Mr.  Gusley  answered,  and  sometimes  Mrs. 
Gusley  also.  In  fact,  Mr.  Gusley  considered  the  call  as 

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RED    POTTAGE 

paid  to  himself.  Mrs.  Lof fcus  tells  me  he  is  much  cleverer 
than  his  sister,  but  I  did  not  gain  that  impression.  And 
after  I  had  given  tongue  to  every  platitude  I  could  think 
of  I  had  to  take  my  leave." 

"Hester  ought  to  have  come  to  the  rescue." 

"  She  did  try.  She  offered  to  show  me  the  short  cut  to 
Wilderleigh  across  the  fields.  But  unluckily— 

"  I  can  guess  what  you  are  going  to  say." 

"  I  am  sure  you  can.  Mr.  Gusley  accompanied  us,  and 
Miss  Gusley  turned  back  at  the  first  gate." 

"You  have  my  sympathy." 

(( I  hope  I  have,  for  I  have  had  a  severe  time  of  it.  Mr. 
Gusley  was  most  cordial,"  continued  Hugh,  ruefully,  "and 
said  what  a  pleasure  it  was  to  him  to  meet  any  one  who 
was  interested  in  intellectual  subjects.  I  suppose  he  was 
referring  to  my  platitudes.  He  said  living  in  the  country 
cut  him  off  almost  entirely  from  the  society  of  his  mental 
equals,  so  much  so  that  at  times  he  had  thoughts  of  mov- 
ing to  London  and  making  a  little  centre  for  intellectual 
society.  According  to  him  the  whole  neighborhood  was 
sunk  in  a  state  of  hopeless  apathy,  with  the  exception  of 
Mrs.  Loftus.  He  said  she  was  the  only  really  clever,  cul- 
tivated person  in  Middleshire." 

"  Did  he  ?     How  about  the  Bishop  of  Southminster  ?" 

"  He  did  not  mention  him.  My  acquaintance  with  Mrs. 
Loftus  is  of  the  slightest,"  added  Hugh,  interrogatively, 
looking  at  his  graceful,  animated  hostess. 

"  I  imagined  you  knew  her  fairly  well,  as  you  are  stay- 
ing here." 

"  No.  She  asked  me  rather  late  in  the  day.  I  fancy  1 
was  a  'fill  up.'  I  accepted  in  the  hope,  rather  a  vague 
one,  that  I  might  meet  you  here." 

To  Rachel's  surprise  her  heart  actually  paid  Hugh  the 
compliment  of  beating  a  shade  faster  than  its  wont.  She 
looked  straight  in  front  of  her,  and  her  absent  eyes  fell  on 
Mr.  Tristram  sitting  opposite,  talking  somewhat  sulkily 
to  Miss  Barker.  Rachel  looked  steadily  at  him. 

Mr.  Tristram  had  been  handsome  once,  and  four  years 

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RED    POTTAGE 

had  altered  him  but  little  in  that  respect.  He  had  iv^t 
yet  grown  stout,  but  it  was  evident  that  Nature  had  that 
injury  in  reserve  for  him.  To  grow  stout  is  not  neces- 
sarily to  look  common,,  but  if  there  is  an  element  of 
inherent  commonness  in  man  Or  woman,  a  very  little  ad- 
ditional surface  will  make  it  manifest,  as  an  enlarged 
photograph  magnifies  its  own  defects.  The  "  little  more 
and  how  much  it  is  "  had  come  upon  the  unhappy  Tris- 
tram, once  the  slimmest  of  the  slim.  Life  had  evidently 
not  gone  too  well  with  him.  Self-pity  and  the  harassed 
look  which  comes  of  annoyance  with  trifles  had  set  their 
mark  upon  him.  His  art  had  not  taken  possession  of  him. 
"  High  hopes  faint  on  a  warm  hearthstone."  But  they 
sometimes  faint  also  in  bachelor  lodgings.  The  whole 
effect  of  the  man  was  second  -  rate,  mentally,  morally, 
socially.  He  seemed  exactly  on  a  par  with  the  second- 
rate  friends  with  whom  Sybell  loved  to  surround  herself. 
Hugh  and  Dick  were  taking  their  revenge  on  the  rival 
who  blocked  their  way.  Whatever  their  faults  might  be, 
they  were  gentlemen,  and  Mr.  Tristram  was  only  "a  per- 
fect gentleman."  Rachel  had  not  known,  the  difference 
when  she  was  young.  She  saw  it  now. 

"  I  trust,  Miss  West,"  said  the  deep  voice  of  Mr.  Hervey, 
revolving  himself  and  his  solitaire  slowly  towards  her, 
4<  that  I  have  your  sympathy  in  the  great  cause  to  which  I 
have  dedicated  myself,  the  emancipation  of  woman/' 

*'  I  thought  the  new  woman  had  effected  her  own  eman- 
cipation," said  Rachel. 

Mr.  Hervey  paid  no  more  attention  to  her  remark  than 
would  any  one  with  a  theory  to  propound  which  must  be 
delivered  to  the  world  as  a  whole. 

"I  venture  to  think,"  he  continued,  his  heavy,  lustre- 
less eyes  coming  to  a  stand-still  upon  her,  "  that  though  I 
accept  in  all  reverence  the  position  of  woman  as  the  equal 
of  man,  as  promulgated  in  The  Princess,  by  our  lion- 
hearted  Laureate,  nevertheless  I  advance  beyond  him  in 
that  respect.  I  hold  " — in  a  voice  calculated  to  impress 
the  whole  table — "that  woman  is  man's  superior,  and  that 

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RED    POTTAGE 

she  degrades  herself  when  she  endeavors  to  place  herself 
on  an  equality  with  him." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  like  that  which  travel- 
lers tell  us  succeeds  the  roar  of  the  lion  in  his  primeval 
forest,  silencing  even  the  twitter  of  the  birds. 

"  How  true  that  is !"  said  Sybell,  awed  by  the  lurid 
splendor  of  Mr.  Hervey's  genius.  ' '  Woman  is  man's  su- 
perior, not  his  equal.  I  have  felt  that  all  my  life,  but  I 
never  quite  saw  how  until  this  moment.  Don't  you  think 
so,  too,  Miss  Barker  ?" 

"  I  have  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  asserting  it,"  said 
the  Apostle,  her  elbow  on  Mr.  Tristram's  bread,  looking  at 
Mr.  Hervey  with  some  asperity  for  poaching  on  her  manor. 
"All  sensible  women  have  been  agreed  for  years  on  that 
point." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

With  aching  hands  and  bleeding  feet 

We  dig  and  heap,  lay  stone  on  stone, 
We  bear  the  burden  and  the  heat 
Of  the  long  day,  and  wish  'twere  done  ! 

Not  till  the  hours  of  light  return 
All  we  have  built  do  we  discern. 

—MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

IT  was  Sunday  morning.  The  night  was  sinking  out  of 
the  sky  to  lean  faint  unto  death  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
earth.  The  great  forms  of  the  trees,  felt  rather  than 
seen,  were  darkness  made  visible.  Among  the  night  of 
high  elms  round  Warpington  a  single  yellow  light  burned 
in  an  upper  window.  It  had  been  burning  all  night.  And 
now,  as  the  night  waned,  the  little  light  waned  with  it. 
At  least,  it  was  suddenly  blown  out. 

Hester  came  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  There 
was  light,  but  there  was  no  dawn  as  yet.  In  the  gray 
sky  over  the  gray  land  the  morning  -  star,  alone  and 
splendid,  kept  watch  in  the  east. 

She  sat  down  and  leaned  her  brow  against  the  pane. 
She  did  not  know  that  it  was  aching.  She  did  not  know 
that  she  was  cold,  exhausted ;  so  exhausted  that  the  morn- 
ing-star in  the  outer  heaven  and  the  morning-star  in  her 
soul  were  to  her  the  same.  They  stooped  together,  they 
merged  into  one  great  light,  heralding  a  perfect  day  pres- 
ently to  be. 

The  night  was  over,  and  that  other  long  night  of  travail 
and  patience  and  faith,  and  strong  rowing  in  darkness 
against  the  stream,  was  over,  too,  at  last — at  last.  The 
book  was  finished. 

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The  tears  fell  slowly  from  Hester's  eyes  on  to  her  clasped 
hands,  those  blessed  tears  which  no  human  hand  shall 
ever  intervene  to  wipe  away. 

To  some  of  us  Christ  comes  in  the  dawn  of  the  spiritual 
life  walking  upon  the  troubled  waves  of  art.  And  we 
recognize  Him,  and  would  fain  go  to  meet  Him.  But  our 
companions  and  our  own  fears  dissuade  us.  They  say 
it  is  only  a  spirit,  and  that  Christ  does  not  walk  on  water, 
that  the  land  whither  we  are  rowing  is  the  place  He  has 
Himself  appointed  for  us  to  meet  Him.  So  our  little  faith 
keeps  us  in  the  boat,  or  fails  us  in  the  waves  of  that  wind- 
swept sea. 

It  seemed  to  Hester  as  if  once,  long  ago,  shrinking  and 
shivering,  she  had  stood  in  despair  upon  the  shore  of  a 
great  sea,  and  had  heard  a  voice  from  the  other  side  say, 
"Come  over."  She  had  stopped  her  ears  ;  she  had  tried 
not  to  go.  She  had  shrunk  back  a  hundred  times  from 
the  cold  touch  of  the  water  that  each  time  she  essayed  let 
her  trembling  foot  through  it.  And  now,  after  an  inter- 
minable interval,  after  she  had  trusted  and  doubted,  had 
fallen  and  been  sustained,  had  met  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
after  she  had  sunk  in  despair  and  risen  again,  she  knew 
not  how,  now  at  length  a  great  wave — the  last — had  cast 
her  up  half  drowned  upon  the  shore.  A  miracle  had  hap- 
pened. She  had  reached  the  other  side,  and  was  lying  in 
a  great  peace  after  the  storm  upon  the  solemn  shore  under 
a  great  white  star. 

Hester  sat  motionless.  The  star  paled  and  paled  before 
the  coming  of  a  greater  than  he.  Across  the  pause  which 
God  has  set  'twixt  night  and  day  came  the  first  word  of 
the  robin.  It  reached  Hester's  ear  as  from  another  world — 
a  world  that  had  been  left  behind.  The  fragmentary 
notes  floated  up  to  her  from  an  immeasurable  distance, 
like  scattered  bubbles  through  deep  water. 

The  day  was  coming.  God's  creatures  of  tree  and  field 
and  hill  took  form.  Man's  creature,  the  little  stout  church 
in  their  midst,  thrust  once  more  its  plebeian  outline 
against  God's  sky.  Dim  shapes  moved  athwart  the  va- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

cancy  of  the  meadows.  Voices  called  through  the  gray. 
Close  against  the  eaves  a  secret  was  twittered,  was  passed 
from  beak  to  beak.  In  the  nursery  below  a  little  twitter 
of  waking  children  broke  the  stillness  of  the  house. 

But  Hester  did  not  hear  it.  She  had  fallen  into  a  deep 
sleep  in  the  low  window-seat,  with  her  pale  forehead 
against  the  pane ;  a  sleep  so  deep  that  even  the  alarum  of 
the  baby  did  not  rouse  her,  nor  the  entrance  of  Emma 
with  the  hot  water. 

"James,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  an  hour  later,  as  she  and 
her  husband  returned  through  the  white  mist  from  early 
celebration,  "Hester  was  not  there.  I  thought  she  had 
promised  to  come/' 

"She  had." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  not  well/7  said  Mr.  Gusley,  closing  the 
church-yard  gate  into  the  garden. 

Mrs.  Gusley's  heart  swelled  with  a  sense  of  injustice. 
She  had  often  been  unwell,  often  in  feeble  health  before 
the  birth  of  her  children,  but  had  she  ever  pleaded  ill- 
health  as  an  excuse  for  absenting  herself  from  one  of  the 
many  services  which  her  husband  held  to  be  the  main- 
spring of  the  religious  life  ? 

"I  do  not  think  she  can  be  very  unwell.  She  is  stand- 
ing by  the  magnolia  now,"  she  said,  her  lip  quivering,  and 
withdrawing  her  hand  from  her  husband's  arm.  She  al- 
most hated  the  slight,  graceful  figure,  which  was  not  of 
her  world,  which  was,  as  she  thought,  coming  between  her 
and  her  husband. 

"  I  will  speak  seriously  to  her/'  said  Mr.  Gusley,  de- 
jectedly, who  recollected  that  he  had  "  spoken  seriously"" 
to  Hester  many  times  at  his  wife's  instigation  without 
visible  result.  And  as  he  went  alone  to  meet  his  sister  he 
prayed  earnestly  that  he  might  be  given  the  right  word  to 
say  to  her. 

A  ray  of  sunlight,  faint  as  an  echo,  stole  through  the 
lingering  mist,  parting  it  on  either  hand,  and  fell  on  Hester. 

155 


RED    POTTAGE 

Hester,  standing  in  a  white  gown  under  the  veiled  trees 
in  a  glade  of  silver  and  trembling  opal,  which  surely 
mortal  foot  had  never  trod,  seemed  infinitely  removed 
from  him.  Dimly  he  felt  that  she  was  at  one  with  this 
mysterious  morning  world,  and  that  he,  the  owner,  was 
an  alien  and  a  trespasser  in  his  own  garden. 

But  a  glimpse  of  his  cucumber-frames  in  the  background 
reassured  him.  He  advanced  with  a  firmer  step,  as  one 
among  allies. 

Hester  did  not  hear  him. 

She-  was  gazing  with  an  absorption  that  shut  out  all 
other  sights  and  sounds  at  the  solitary  blossom  on  the 
magnolia  -  tree.  Yesterday  it  had  been  a  bud ;  but  to- 
day the  great  almond-white  petals  which  guarded  it,  over- 
lapping each  other  so  jealously,  had  opened  wide,  and  the 
perfect  flower,  keeping  nothing  back,  had  laid  bare  all  its 
pure  white  soul  before  its  God. 

As  Mr.  Gusley  stopped  beside  her,  Hester  turned  her 
little  pinched,  ravaged  face  towards  him  and  smiled. 
Something  of  the  passionate  self-surrender  of  the  flower 
was  reflected  in  her  eyes. 

"Dear  Hester,"  he  said,  seeing  only  the  wan,  drawn 
face.  "Are  you  ill?" 

"  Yes — no.  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Hester,  tremulous- 
ly, recalled  suddenly  to  herself.  She  looked  hastily  about 
her.  The  world  of  dew  and  silver  had  deserted  her,  had 
broken  like  an  iridescent  bubble  at  a  touch.  The  mag- 
nolia withdrew  itself.  Hester  found  herself  suddenly 
transplanted  into  the  prose  of  life,  emphasized  by  a  long 
clerical  coat  and  a  bed  of  Brussels  sprouts. 

"  I  missed  you/7  said  Mr.  Gusley,  with  emphasis. 

"Where  ?  When  ?"  Hester's  eyes  had  lost  their  fixed 
look  and  stared  vacantly  at  him. 

Mr.  Gusley  tried  to  subdue  his  rising  annoyance. 

Hester  was  acting,  pretending  not  to  understand,  and 
he  saw  through  it. 

"  At  God's  altar,"  he  said,  gravely,  the  priest  getting 
the  upper  hand  of  the  man. 

156 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Have  you  not  found  me  there  ?"  said  Hester,  below 
her  breath,  but  so  low  that  fortunately  her  brother  did 
not  catch  the  words,  and  was  spared  their  profanity. 

"  I  will  appeal  to  her  better  feelings,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  They  must  be  there,  if  I  can  only  touch  them/' 

He  did  not  know  that  in  order  to  touch  the  better  feel- 
ings of  our  fellow-natures  we  must  be  able  to  reach  up  to 
them,  or  by  reason  of  our  low  stature  we  may  succeed 
only  in  appealing  to  the  lowest  in  them,  in  spite  of  our 
tiptoe  good  intentions.  Is  that  why  such  appeals  too 
often  meet  with  bitter  sarcasm  and  indignation  ? 

But  fortunately  a  robust  belief  in  the  assiduities  of  the 
devil  as  the  cause  of  all  failures,  and  a  conviction  that  who- 
so opposed  Mr.  Gusley  opposed  the  Deity,  supported  and 
blindfolded  the  young  Vicar  in  emergencies  of  this  kind. 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  at  length  to  his  sister.  He 
waved  aside  her  timid  excuse  that  she  had  overslept  her- 
self after  a  sleepless  night,  and  had  finished  dressing  but 
the  moment  before  he  found  her  in  the  garden.  He  en- 
treated her  to  put  aside  such  insincerity  as  unworthy  of 
her.  He  reminded  her  of  the  long  months  she  had  spent 
at  Warpington  with  its  peculiar  spiritual  opportunities; 
that  he  should  be  to  blame  if  he  did  not  press  upon  her 
the  first  importance  of  the  religious  life,  the  ever-present 
love  of  God,  and  the  means  of  approaching  Him  through 
the  sacraments.  He  entreated  her  to  join  her  prayers 
with  his  that  she  might  be  saved  from  the  worship  of  her 
own  talent,  which  had  shut  out  the  worship  of  God,  from 
this  dreadful  indifference  to  holy  things,  and  the  im- 
patience of  all  religious  teaching  which  he  grieved  to  see 
in  her. 

He  spoke  well,  the  earnest,  blind,  would-be  leader  en- 
deavoring to  guide  her  to  the  ditch  from  which  he  knew 
not  how  she  had  emerged,  passionately  distressed  at  the 
opposition  he  met  with  as  he  would  have  drawn  her  lov- 
ingly towards  it. 

The  tears  were  in  Hester's  eyes,  but  the  eyes  themselves 
were  as  flint  seen  through  water.  She  stifled  many  fierce 

157 


KED    POTTAGE 

and  cruel  impulses  to  speak  as  plainly  as  he  did,  to  tell 
him  that  it  was  not  religion  that  was  abhorent  to  her,  but 
the  form  in  which  he  presented  it  to  her,  and  that  the  sin 
against  the  Holy  Ghost  was  disbelief,  like  his,  in  the  relig- 
ion of  others.  But  when  have  such  words  availed  any- 
thing ?  When  have  they  been  believed  ?  Hester  had  a 
sharp  tongue,  and  she  was  slowly  learning  to  beware  of  it 
as  her  worst  enemy.  She  laid  down  many  weapons  before 
she  trusted  herself  to  speak. 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  care  what  becomes  of  me,"  she 
said,  gently,  but  her  voice  was  cold.  "  I  am  sorry  you  re- 
gard me  as  you  do.  But  from  your  point  of  view  you 
were  right  to  speak  — as  —  as  you  have  done.  I  value  the 
affection  that  prompted  it." 

"  She  can't  meet  me  fairly/'  said  Mr.  Gusley  to  himself, 
with  sudden  anger  at  the  meanness  of  such  tactics.  "  They 
say  she  is  so  clever,  and  she  can't  refute  a  word  I  say. 
She  appears  to  yield  and  then  defies  me.  She  always  puts 
me  off  like  that." 

The  sun  had  vanquished  the  mist,  and  in  the  brilliant 
light  the  two  figures  moved  silently,  side  by  side,  back  to 
the  house,  one  with  something  very  like  rage  in  his  heart, 
the  rage  that  in  bygone  days  found  expression  in  stake 
and  fagot. 

Perhaps  the  heaviest  trouble  which  Hester  was  ever 
called  upon  to  bear  had  its  mysterious  beginnings  on  that 
morning  of  opal  and  gossamer  when  the  magnolia  opened. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

II  le  fit  avec  des  arguments  inconsistants  et  irrefutables,  de  ces  ar- 
guments qui  fondent  devant  la  raison  comme  la  neige  au  feu,  et 
qu'ou  ne  peut  saisir,  des  arguments  absurdes  et  triomphants  de  cure 
de  campagne  qui  demontre  Dieu. — GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT. 

SYBELI/S  party  broke  up  on  Saturday,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Rachel  and  Mr.  Tristram,  who  had  been  unable  to 
finish  by  that  date  a  sketch  he  was  making  of  Sybell. 
When  Doll  discovered  that  his  wife  had  asked  that  gentle- 
man to  stay  over  Sunday  he  entreated  Hugh,  in  moving 
terms,  to  do  the  same. 

"I  am  not  literary/'  said  Doll,  who  always  thought  it 
necessary  to  explain  that  he  was  not  what  no  one  thought 
he  was.  "  I  hate  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Utter  rot,  I  call 
it.  For  goodness'  sake,  Scarlett,  sit  tight.  I  must  be 
decent  to  the  beast  in  my  own  house,  and  if  you  go  I  shall 
have  to  have  him  alone  jawing  at  me  till  all  hours  of  the 
night  in  the  smoking-room." 

Hugh  was  easily  persuaded,  and  so  it  came  about  that 
the  morning  congregation  at  Warpington  had  the  advan- 
tage of  furtively  watching  Hugh  and  Mr.  Tristram  as  they 
sat  together  in  the  carved  Wilderleigh  pew,  with  Sybeil 
and  Rachel  at  one  end  of  it,  and  Doll  at  the  other.  No 
one  looked  at  Rachel.  Her  hat  attracted  a  momentary  at- 
tention, but  her  face  none. 

The  Miss  Pratts,  on  the  contrary,  well  caparisoned  by 
their  man  milliner,  well  groomed,  well  curled,  were  a 
marked  feature  of  the  sparse  congregation.  The  specta- 
tor of  so  many  points,  all  made  the  most  of,  unconsciously 
felt  with  a  sense  of  oppression  that  everything  that  could 
be  done  had  been  done.  No  stone  had  been  left  unturned. 

159 


RED    POTTAGE 

Their  brother,  Captain  Algernon  Pratt,  sitting  behind 
them,  looked  critically  at  them,  and  owned  that  they  were 
smart  women.  But  he  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with 
them,  as  he  had  been  in  the  old  days,  before  he  went  into 
the  Guards  and  began  the  real  work  of  his  life,  raising 
himself  in  society. 

Captain  Pratt  was  a  tall,  pale  young  man  —  assez  beau 
garpon —  faultlessly  dressed,  with  a  quiet  acquired  manner. 
He  was  not  ill-looking,  the  long  upper  lip  concealed  by  a 
perfectly  kept  mustache,  but  the  haggard  eye  and  the 
thin  line  in  the  cheek,  which  did  not  suggest  thought  and 
overwork  as  their  cause,  made  his  appearance  vaguely  re- 
pellent. 

"  Jesu,  lover  of  my  soul," 

sang  the  shrill  voices  of  the  choir-boys,  echoed  by  Regie 
and  Mary,  standing  together,  holding  their  joint  hymn- 
book  exactly  equally  between  them,  their  two  small  thumbs 
touching. 

Fraulein,  on  Hester's  other  side,  was  singing  with  her 
whole  soul,  accompanied  by  a  pendulous  movement  of  the 
body  : 

"Cover  my  defenceless  'ead, 
Wiz  ze  sadow  of  Zy  wing." 

Mr.  Gusley,  after  baying  like  a  blood-hound  through 
the  opening  verses,  ascended  the  pulpit  and  engaged  in 
prayer.  The  congregation  amened  and  settled  itself. 
Mary  leaned  her  blond  head  against  her  mother,  Regie 
against  Hester. 

The  supreme  moment  of  the  week  had  come  for  Mr. 
Gusley. 

He  gave  out  the  text  : 

"  Can  the  blind  lead  the  blind  ?  Shall  they  not  both 
fall  into  the  ditch?" 

All  of  us  who  are  Churchmen  are  aware  that  the  sermon 
is  a  period  admirably  suited  for  quiet  reflection. 

160 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  A  good  woman  loves  but  once,"  said  Mr.  Tristram  to 
himself,  in  an  attitude  of  attention,  his  fine  eyes  fixed  de- 
corously on  a  pillar  in  front  of  him.  Some  of  us  would 
be  as  helpless  without  a  Bowdlerized  generality  or  a  plati- 
tude to  sustain  our  minds  as  the  invalid  would  be  without 
his  peptonized  beef-tea. 

"  Rachel  is  a  good  woman,  a  saint.  Such  a  woman  does 
not  love  in  a  hurry,  but  when  she  does  she  loves  forever." 
What  was  that  poem  he  and  she  had  so  often  read 
together  ?  Tennyson,  wasn't  it  ?  About  love  not  altering 
*'  when  it  alteration  finds,"  but  bears  it  out  even  to  the 
crack  of  doom.  Fine  poet,  Tennyson ;  he  knew  the  human 
heart.  She  had  certainly  adored  him  four  years  ago,  just 
in  the  devoted  way  in  which  he  needed  to  be  loved.  And 
how  he  had  worshipped  her  !  Of  course  he  had  behaved 
badly.  He  saw  that  now.  But  if  he  had  it  was  not  from 
want  of  love.  She  had  been  unable  to  see  that  at  the 
time.  G-ood  women  were  narrow,  and  they  were  hard, 
and  they  did  not  understand  men.  Those  were  their 
faults.  Had  she  learned  better  by  now  ?  Did  she  realize 
that  she  had  far  better  marry  a  man  who  had  loved  her 
for  herself,  and  who  still  loved  her,  rather  than  some  for- 
tune-hunter, like  that  weedy  fellow  Scarlett.  (Mr.  Tris- 
tram called  all  slender  men  weedy.)  He  would  frankly 
own  his  fault  and  ask  for  forgiveness.  He  glanced  for  a 
moment  at  the  gentle,  familiar  face  beside  him. 

"  She  will  forgive  me,"  he  said,  reassuring  himself,  in 
spite  of  an  inward  qualm  of  misgiving.  "  I  ain  glad  I  ar- 
ranged to  stay  on.  I  will  speak  to  her  this  afternoon. 
She  has  become  much  softened,  and  we  will  bury  the  past 
and  make  a  fresh  start  together. " 

"  I  will  walk  up  to  Beaumere  this  afternoon,"  said  Doll, 
stretching  a  leg  outside  the  open  end  of  the  pew.  "  I 
wish  Gusley  would  not  call  the  Dissenters  worms.  They 
are  some  of  my  best  tenants,  and  they  won't  like  it  when 
they  hear  of  it.  And  Fll  go  round  the  young  pheasants. 
(Doll  did  this,  or  something  similar,  every  Sunday  after- 
L  161 


RED    POTTAGE 

noon  of  his  life,  but  he  always  rehearsed  it  comfortably  in 
thought  on  Sunday  mornings.)  And  if  Withers  is  about 
I'll  go  out  in  the  boat — the  big  one,  the  little  one  leaks — 
and  set  a  trimmer  or  two  for  to-morrow.  I'm  not  sure  I'll 
set  one  under  the  south  bank,  for  there  was  the  de^vil  to 
pay  last  time,  when  that  beast  of  an  eel  got  among  the 
roots.  I'll  ask  Withers  what  he  thinks.  I  wish  G-usley 
would  not  call  the  Dissenters  blind  leaders  of  the  blind. 
It's  such  bad  form,  and  I  don't  suppose  the  text  meant 
that  to  start  with,  and  what's  the  use  of  ill-feeling  in  a 
parish  ?  And  I'll  take  Scarlett  with  me.  We'll  slip  off 
after  luncheon,  and  leave  that  bounder  to  bound  by  him- 
self. And  poor  old  Crack  shall  come  too.  Uncle  George 
always  took  him." 

"James  is  simply  surpassing  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Gus- 
ley  to  herself,  her  arm  round  her  little  daughter. 
"  Worms  !  what  a  splendid  comparison !  The  Church- 
man, the  full-grown  man  after  the  stature  of  Christ,  and 
the  Dissenter  invertebrate  (I  think  dear  James  means  in- 
ebriate), like  a  worm  cleaving  to  the  earth.  But  possibly 
God  in  His  mercy  may  let  them  slip  in  by  a  back-door  to 
heaven !  How  like  him  to  say  that,  so  generous,  so  wide- 
minded,  taking  the  hopeful  view  of  everything  !  How 
noble  he  looks  !  These  are  days  in  which  we  should  stick 
to  our  colors.  I  wonder  how  he  can  think  of  such  beauti- 
ful things.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  duty  of  the  true 
priest  is  not  to  grovel  to  the  crowd  and  call  wrong  right 
and  right  wrong  for  the  sake  of  a  fleeting  popularity. 
How  striking !  What  a  lesson  to  the  Bishop,  if  he  were 
only  here.  He  is  so  lax  about  Dissent,  as  if  right  and 
wrong  were  mere  matters  of  opinion  !  What  a  gift  he  has ! 
I  know  he  will  eat  nothing  for  luncheon.  If  only  we  were 
somewhere  else  where  the  best  joints  were  a  little  cheap- 
er, and  his  talents  more  appreciated."  And  Mrs.  Gusley 
closed  her  eyes  and  prayed  earnestly,  a  tear  sliding  down 
her  cheek  on  to  Mary's  floss-silk  mane,  that  she  might  be- 
come less  unworthy  to  be  the  wife  of  one  so  far  above  her, 

162 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  the  children  might  all  grow  up  like  him,  and  that 
she  might  be  given  patience  to  bear  with  Hester  even 
when  she  vexed  him. 

Captain  Pratt's  critical  eye  travelled  over  the  congre- 
gation. It  absolutely  ignored  Mrs.  Gusley  and  Fraulein. 
It  lingered  momentarily  on  Hester.  He  knew  what  he 
called  "  breeding"  when  he  saw  it,  and  he  was  aware  that 
Hester  possessed  it,  though  his  sisters  would  have  laughed 
at  the  idea.  He  had  seen  many  well-bred  women  on  so- 
cial pinnacles  look  like  that,  whose  houses  were  at  present 
barred  against  him.  The  Pratt  sisters  were  fixed  into 
their  smartness  as  some  faces  are  fixed  into  a  grin.  It 
was  not  spontaneous,  fugitive,  evanescent  as  a  smile, 
gracefully  worn,  or  lightly  laid  aside,  as  in  Hester's  case. 
He  had  known  Hester  slightly  in  London  for  several  years. 
He  had  seen  her  on  terms  of  intimacy,  such  as  she  never 
showed  to  his  sisters,  with  inaccessible  men  and  women 
with  whom  he  had  achieved  a  bare  acquaintance,  but 
whom,  in  spite  of  many  carefully  concealed  advances,  he 
had  found  it  impossible  to  know  better.  Captain  Pratt 
had  reached  that  stage  in  his  profession  of  raising  himself 
when  he  had  become  a  social  barometer.  He  was  exces- 
sively careful  whom  he  knew,  what  women  he  danced  with, 
what  houses  he  visited  ;  and  any  of  his  acquaintances  who 
cared  to  ascertain  their  own  social  status  to  a  hair's-breadth 
had  only  to  apply  to  it  the  touchstone  of  Captain  Pratt's 
manner  towards  them. 

Hester,  who  grasped  many  facts  of  that  kind,  was  al- 
ways amused  by  the  cold  consideration  with  which  he 
treated  her  on  his  rare  visits  to  the  parental  Towers  ;  and 
which  his  sisters  could  only  construe  as  a  sign  that  "  Algy 
was  gone  on  Hessie." 

"But  he  will  never  marry  her,"  they  told  each  other. 
"  Algy  looks  higher/' 

It  was  true.  If  Hester  had  been  Lady  Hester,  it  is 
possible  that  the  surname  of  Pratt,  if  frequently  refused 
by  stouter  women,  might  eventually  have  been  offered  to 

163 


RED    POTTAGE 

her.  But  Captain  Pratt  was  determined  to  marry  rank, 
and  nothing  short  of  a  Lady  Something  was  of  any  use  to 
him.  An  Honorable  was  better  than  nothing,  but  it  did 
not  count  for  much  with  him.  It  had  a  way  of  absenting 
itself  when  wanted.  No  one  was  announced  as  an  Hon- 
orable. It  did  not  even  appear  on  cards.  It  might  be 
overlooked.  Rank,  to  be  of  any  practical  value,  must  be 
apparent,  obvious.  Lady  Georgiana  Pratt,  Lady  Evelina 
Pratt !  Any  name  would  do  with  that  prefix.  His  eye 
travelled  as  far  as  Sybell  and  stopped  again.  She  was 
"  the  right  sort "  herself ,  and  she  dressed  in  the  right 
way.  Why  could  not  Ada  and  Selina  imitate  her  ?  But 
he  had  never  forgiven  her  the  fact  that  he  had  met  "a, 
crew  of  cads"  at  her  house,  whom  he  had  been  obliged  to 
cut  afterwards  in  the  Row.  No,  Sybell  would  not  have 
done  for  him.  She  surrounded  herself  with  vulgar  people. 
Captain  Pratt  was  far  too  well-mannered  to  be  guilty  of 
staring,  except  at  pretty  maid-servants  or  shop-girls,  and 
his  eye  was  moved  on  by  the  rigid  police  of  etiquette 
which  ruled  his  every  movement.  It  paused  momentarily 
on  Rachel.  He  knew  about  her,  as  did  every  bachelor  in 
London.  A  colossal  heiress.  She  was  neither  plain  nor 
handsome.  She  had  a  good  figure,  but  not  good  enough 
to  counterbalance  her  nondescript  face.  She  had  not  the 
air  of  distinction  which  he  was  so  quick  to  detect  and 
appraise.  She  was  a  social  nonentity.  He  did  not  care 
to  look  at  her  a  second  time.  ' '  I  would  not  marry  her 
with  twice  her  fortune,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Regie's  hand  had  stolen  into  Hester's.  His  even 
breathing,  felt  rather  than  heard,  as  he  dropped  asleep 
against  her  shoulder,  surrounded  Hester  with  the  atmos- 
phere of  peace  and  comfort  which  his  father  had  broken 
earlier  in  the  day.  Regie  often  brought  back  to  her 
what  his  father  wrested  from  her. 

She  listened  to  the  sermon  as  from  a  warm  nest  safely 
raised  above  the  quaggy  ground  of  personal  feeling. 

•'Dear  James  !  How  good  he  is  !  how  much  in  earnest ! 

164 


RED    POTTAGE 

But  worms  don't  go  in  at  back-doors.  Why  are  not  cler- 
gymen taught  a  few  elementary  rules  of  composition  be- 
fore they  are  ordained  ?  But  perhaps  no  one  will  notice 
it  except  myself.  James  is  certainly  a  saint.  He  has  the 
courage  of  his  opinions.  I  believe  he  loves  God  and  the 
Church  with  his  whole  heart,  and  would  go  to  the  stake 
for  them,  or  send  me  there  if  he  thought  it  was  for  the 
good  of  my  soul.  Why  has  he  no  power  ?  Why  is  he  so 
much  disliked  in  the  parish  and  neighborhood?  I  am  sure 
it  is  not  because  he  has  small  abilities,  and  makes  puns, 
and  says  cut  -  and  -  dried  things.  How  many  excellent 
clergymen  who  do  the  same  are  beloved  ?  Is  it  because 
he  deals  with  every  one  as  he  deals  with  me  ?  What 
dreadful  things  he  thinks  of  me.  I  don't  wonder  he  is 
anxious  about  me.  What  unworthy  motives  of  wilful 
blindness  and  arrogance  he  is  attributing  to  the  Noncon- 
formists !  Oh,  James,  James  !  will  you  never  see  that  it  is 
disbelief  in  the  sincerity  of  the  religion  of  others,  because 
it  is  not  in  the  same  narrow  form  as  your  own,  which 
makes  all  your  zeal  and  earnestness  of  none  effect !  You 
think  the  opposition  you  meet  with  everywhere  is  the 
opposition  of  evil  to  good,  of  indifference  to  piety.  When 
will  you  learn  that  it  is  the  good  in  your  hearers  which 
opposes  you,  the  love  of  God  in  them  which  is  offended  by 
your  representation  of  Him  ?" 

Hugh's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  same  pillar  as  Mr.  Tris- 
tram's, but  if  he  had  been  aware  of  that  fact  he  would 
have  chosen  another  pillar.  His  thin,  handsome  face  was 
beginning  to  show  the  marks  of  mental  strain.  His  eyes 
had  the  set,  impassive  look  of  one  who,  hedged  in  on 
both  sides,  sees  a  sharp  turn  ahead  of  him  on  an  unknown 
road. 

"Rachel  !  Rachel !  Rachel !  Don't  you  hear  me  calling 
to  you  ?  Don't  you  hear  me  telling  you  that  I  can't  live 
without  you  ?  The  hymn  was  right — '  Other  refuge  have 
I  none,  Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee  ' — only  it  was  writ- 

165 


RED    POTTAGE 

ten  of  you,  not  of  that  far,  far  away  God  who  does  not 
care.  Only  care  for  me.  Only  love  me.  Only  give  me 
those  cool  hands  that  I  may  lean  my  forehead  against 
them.  No  help  can  come  to  me  except  through  you. 
Stoop  down  to  me  and  raise  me  up,  for  I  love  you." 

The  sun  went  in  suddenly,  and  a  cold  shadow  fell  on 
the  pillar  and  on  Hugh's  heart. 

Love  and  marriage  were  not  for  him.  That  far-away 
God,  that  Judge  in  the  black  cap,  had  pronounced  sen- 
tence against  him,  had  doomed  that  he  should  die  in  his 
sins.  When  he  had  sat  in  his  own  village  church  only 
last  Sunday  between  his  mother  and  sister,  he  had  seen 
the  empty  place  on  the  chancel  wall  where  the  tablet  to 
his  memory  would  be  put  up.  When  he  walked  through 
the  church-yard,  his  mother  leaning  on  his  arm,  his  step 
regulated  by  her  feeble  one,  he  had  seen  the  vacant  space 
by  his  father's  grave  already  filled  by  the  mound  of  raw 
earth  which  would  shortly  cover  him.  His  heart  had 
ached  for  his  mother,  for  the  gentle,  feeble-minded  sister, 
who  had  transferred  the  interest  in  life,  which  keeps 
body  and  soul  together,  from  her  colorless  existence  to  that 
of  her  brother.  Hughie  was  the  romance  of  her  gray  life : 
what  Hughie  said,  what  Hughie  thought,  Hughie's  wife — 
oh,  jealous  thought,  only  to  be  met  by  prayer !  But  later 
on — joy  of  joys — Hughie's  children  !  He  realized  it,  now 
and  then,  vaguely,  momentarily,  but  never  as  fully  as  last 
Sunday.  He  shrank  from  the  remembrance,  and  his 
mind  wandered  anew  in  the  labyrinth  of  broken,  twisted 
thought,  from  which  he  could  find  no  way  out. 

There  must  be  some  way  out!  He  had  stumbled  cal- 
lously through  one  day  after  another  of  these  weeks  in 
which  he  had  not  seen  Eachel  towards  his  next  meeting 
with  her,  as  a  half-blind  man  stumbles  towards  the  light. 
But  the  presence  of  Eachel  afforded  no  clew  to  the  laby- 
rinth. What  vain  hope  was  this  that  he  had  cherished 
unconsciously  that  she  could  help  him.  There  was  no 
help  for  him.  There  was  no  way  out.  He  was  in  a  trap. 
He  must  die,  and  soon,  by  his  own  hand.  Incredible,  pre- 
166 


RED    POTTAGE 

posterous  fate  !     He  shuddered,  and  looked  around  him 
involuntarily. 

His  glance,  reverent,  full  of  timid  longing,  fell  on 
Rachel,  and  his  heart  cried  aloud,  suddenly,  "If  she  loves 
me,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  leave  her." 

167 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Look  in  my  face  !  my  name  is  Might-have-been ; 
I  am  also  called  No-more,  Too-late,  Farewell. 

— DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 

IT  was  Sunday  afternoon.  Mr.  Tristram  leaned  on  the 
stone  balustrade  that  bounded  the  long  terrace  at  Wilder- 
leigh.  He  was  watching  two  distant  figures,  followed  by 
a  black  dot,  stroll  away  across  the  park.  One  of  them 
seemed  to  drag  himself  unwillingly.  Mr.  Tristram  con- 
gratulated himself  on  the  acumen  which  had  led  him  to 
keep  himself  concealed  until  Doll  and  Hugh  had  started 
for  Beaumere. 

Sybell  had  announced  at  luncheon,  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  observes  a  religious  rite,  that  she  should  rest  till  four 
o'clock,  and  would  be  ready  to  sit  for  the  portrait  of  her 
upper  lip  at  that  hour. 

It  was  only  half -past  two  now.  Mr.  Tristram  had  plant- 
ed himself  exactly  in  front  of  RachePs  windows,  with  his 
back  to  the  house.  "  She  will  keep  me  waiting,  but  she 
will  come  out  in  time,"  he  said  to  himself,  nervous  and 
self-confident  by  turns,  resting  his  head  rather  gracefully 
on  his  hand.  His  knowledge  of  womankind  supported 
him  like  a  life-belt,  but  it  has  been  said  that  life-belts 
occasionally  support  their  wearers  upsidedown.  Theo- 
ries have  been  known  to  exhibit  the  same  spiteful  ten- 
dency towards  those  who  place  their  trust  in  them. 

"  Of  course,  she  has  got  to  show  me  that  she  is  offended 
with  me,"  he  reflected,  gazing  steadily  at  the  Welsh  hills. 
"She  would  not  have  come  out  if  I  had  asked  her,  but 
she  will  certainly  come  as  I  did  not.  I  will  give  her  half 
an  hour." 

168 


RED    POTTAGE 

Rachel,  meanwhile,  was  looking  fixedly  at  Mr.  Tristram 
from  her  bedroom  window  with  that  dispassionate  scru- 
tiny to  avoid  which  the  vainest  would  do  well  to  take 
refuge  in  noisome  caves. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  to  herself,  "whether  Hester  al- 
ways saw  him  as  I  see  him  now.  I  believe  she  did/' 

Rachel  put  on  her  hat  and  took  up  her  gloves.  "If  this 
is  really  I,  and  that  is  really  he,  I  had  better  go  down  and 
get  it  over,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Mr.  Tristram  had  given  her  half  an  hour.  She  appear- 
ed in  the  low  stone  doorway  before  the  first  five  minutes 
of  the  allotted  time  had  elapsed,  and  he  gave  a  genuine 
start  of  surprise  as  he  heard  her  step  on  the  gravel.  His 
respect  for  her  fell  somewhat  at  this  alacrity. 

"I  have  been  waiting  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  I  am  anxious  to  have 
a  serious  conversation  with  you." 

"  Certainly,"  she  said. 

They  walked  along  the  terrace,  and  presently  found 
themselves  in  the  little  coppice  adjoining  it.  They  sat 
down  together  on  a  wooden  seat  round  an  old  cedar,  in 
the  heart  of  the  golden  afternoon. 

It  was  an  afternoon  the  secret  of  which  Autumn  and 
Spring  will  never  tell  to  Winter  and  Summer,  when  the 
wildest  dreams  of  love  might  come  true,  when  even  the 
dead  might  come  down  and  put  warm  lips  to  ours,  and  we 
should  feel  no  surprise. 

A  kingfisher  flashed  across  the  open  on  his  way  back  to 
the  brook  near  at  hand,  fleeing  from  the  still  splendor  of 
the  sun-fired  woods,  where  he  was  but  a  courtier,  to  the 
little  winding  world  of  gray  stones  and  water,  where  he 
was  a  jewelled  king. 

When  the  kingfisher  had  left  them  t$te-d-tete,  Mr.  Tris- 
tram found  himself  extremely  awkwardly  placed  on  the 
green  bench.  He  felt  that  he  had  not  sufficiently  con- 
sidered beforehand  the  peculiar  difficulties  which,  in  the 
language  of  the  law,  "had  been  imported  into  his  case." 

Rachel  sat  beside  him  in  silence.  If  it  could  be  chron- 

169 


RED    POTTAGE 

icled  that  sympathetic  sorrow  for  her  companion's  predic- 
ament was  the  principal  feeling  in  her  mind,  she  would 
have  been  an  angel. 

Mr.  Tristram  halted  long  between  two  opinions.  At 
last  he  said,  brokenly  : 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?" 

What  woman,  even  with  her  white  hair,  even  after  a  life- 
time spent  out  of  ear-shot,  ever  forgets  the  tone  her  lover's 
voice  takes  when  he  is  in  trouble  ?  Rachel  softened  in- 
stantly. 

**  I  forgave  you  long  ago,"  she  said,  gently. 

Something  indefinable  in  the  clear,  full  gaze  that  met 
his  daunted  him.  He  stared  apprehensively  at  her.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  standing  in  cold  and  dark- 
ness looking  in  through  the  windows  of  her  untroubled 
eyes  at  the  warm,  sunlit  home  which  had  once  been  his, 
when  it  had  been  exceeding  well  with  him,  but  of  which 
he  had  lost  the  key. 

A  single  yellow  leaf,  crisped  and  hollowed  to  a  fairy 
boat,  came  sailing  on  an  imperceptible  current  of  air  to 
rest  on  Rachel's  knee. 

"  I  was  angry  at  first,"  she  said,  her  voice  falling  across 
the  silence  like  another  leaf.  "  And  then,  after  a  time,  I 
forgave  you.  And  later  still,  much  later,  I  found  out 
that  you  had  never  injured  me — that  I  had  nothing  to 
forgive." 

He  did  not  understand,  and  as  he  did  not  understand 
he  explained  volubly — for  here  he  felt  he  was  on  sure 
ground — that,  on  the  contrary,  she  had  much  to  forgive, 
that  he  had  acted  like  an  infernal  blackguard,  that  men 
were  coarse  brutes,  not  fit  to  kiss  a  good  woman's  shoe- 
latchet,  etc.,  etc.  He  identified  his  conduct  with  that  of 
the  whole  sex,  without  alluding  to  it  as  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual Tristram.  He  made  it  clear  that  he  did  not  claim 
to  have  behaved  better  than  "  most  men." 

Rachel  listened  attentively.  "And  I  actually  loved 
him,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"  But  the  divine  quality  of  woman  is  her  power  of  for- 

170 


RED    POTTAGE 

giving.  Her  love  raises  a  man,  transfigures  him,  ennobles 
his  whole  life/7  etc.,  etc. 

"My  love  did  not  appear  to  have  quite  that  effect  upon 
you  at  the  time,"  said  Rachel,  regretting  the  words  the 
moment  they  were  spoken. 

Mr.  Tristram  felt  relieved.  Here  at  last  was  the  re- 
proach he  had  been  expecting. 

He  assured  her  she  did  well  to  be  angry.  He  accused 
himself  once  more.  He  denounced  the  accursed  morals 
of  the  day,  above  which  he  ought  to  have  risen,  the  morals, 
if  she  did  but  know  it,  of  all  unmarried  men. 

"That  is  a  hit  at  Mr.  Scarlett,''  she  said,  scornfully,  to 
herself,  and  then  her  cheek  blanched  as  she  remembered 
that  Hugh  was  not  exempt,  after  all.  She  became  sud- 
denly tired,  impatient;  but  she  waited  quietly  for  the  in- 
evitable proposal. 

Mr.  Tristram,  who  had  the  gift  of  emphatic  and  facile 
utterance,  which  the  conventional  consider  to  be  the 
sign-manual  of  genius,  had  become  so  entangled  in  the 
morals  of  the  age  that  it  took  him  some  time  to  extri- 
cate himself  from  the  subject  before  he  could  pass  on  to 
plead,  in  an  impassioned  manner,  the  cause  of  the  man, 
unworthy  though  he  might  be,  who  had  long  loved  her, 
loved  her  now,  and  would  always  love  her,  in  this  world 
and  the  next. 

It  was  the  longest  proposal  Rachel  had  ever  had,  and 
she  had  had  many.  But  if  the  proposal  was  long,  the  re- 
fusal was  longer.  Rachel,  who  had  a  good  memory,  led 
up  to  it  by  opining  that  the  artistic  life  made  great  de- 
mands, that  the  true  artist  must  live  entirely  for  his  art, 
that  domestic  life  might  prove  a  hinderance.  She  had 
read  somewhere  that  high  hopes  fainted  on  warm  hearth- 
stones. Mr.  Tristram  demolished  these  objections  as  ruth- 
lessly as  ducks  peck  their  own  ducklings  if  they  have  not 
seen  them  for  a  day  or  two. 

Even  when  she  was  forced  to  become  more  explicit,  it 
was  at  first  impossible  to  Mr.  Tristram  to  believe  she 
would  finally  reject  him.  But  the  knowledge,  deep- 

171 


RED    POTTAGE 

rooted  as  a  forest  oak,  that  she  had  loved  him  devotedly 
could  not  at  last  prevail  against  the  odious  conviction 
that  she  was  determined  not  to  marry  him. 

"Then,  in  that  case,  you  never  loved  me  ?" 

"I  do  not  love  you  now." 

"  You  are  determined  not  to  marry  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  hope  to  do  so." 

Rachel's  words  took  her  by  surprise.  She  had  no  idea 
till  that  moment  that  she  hoped  anything  of  the  kind. 

"You  prefer  some  one  else.    That  is  the  real  truth." 

"I  prefer  several  others." 

Mr.  Tristram  looked  suspiciously  at  her.  Her  answers 
did  not  tally  with  his  previous  knowledge  of  her.  Perhaps 
he  forgot  that  he  had  set  his  docile  pupil  rather  a  long 
holiday  task  to  learn  in  his  absence,  and  she  had  learned  it. 

"You  think  you  would  be  happier  with  some  fortune- 
hunter  of  an  aristocrat  than  with  a  plain  man  of  your 
own  class,  who,  whatever  his  faults  may  be,  loves  you  for 
yourself." 

Why  is  it  that  the  word  aristocrat  as  applied  to  a  gentle- 
man is  as  offensive  as  that  of  flunkey  applied  to  a  footman? 

Rachel  drew  herself  up  imperceptibly. 

"That  depends  upon  the  fortune-hunter,"  she  said,  with 
that  touch  of  hauteur  which,  when  the  vulgar  have  at  last 
drawn  it  upon  themselves  by  the  insolence  which  is  the 
under  side  of  their  courtesy,  always  has  the  same  effect  on 
them  as  a  red  rag  on  a  bull. 

In  their  own  language  they  invariably  "  stand  up  to  it." 
Mr.  Tristram  stood  up  physically  and  mentally.  He  also 
raised  his  voice,  causing  two  rabbits  to  hurry  back  into 
their  holes. 

Women,  he  said,  were  incalculable.  He  would  never 
believe  in  one  again.  His  disbelief  in  woman  rose  even 
to  the  rookery  in  the  high  elms  close  at  hand.  That  she, 
Rachel,  whom  he  had  always  regarded  as  the  first  among 
women,  should  be  dazzled  by  the  empty  glamour  of  rank, 
now  that  her  fortune  put  such  marriages  within  her  reach, 
was  incredible.  He  should  have  repudiated  such  an  idea 

172 


RED    POTTAGE 

with  scorn,  if  he  had  not  heard  it  from  her  own  lips.  Well, 
he  would  leave  her  to  the  life  she  had  chosen.  It  only 
remained  for  him  to  thank  her  for  stripping  his  last  illu- 
sions from  him  and  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"We  shall  never  meet  again,"  he  said,  holding  her 
hand,  and  looking  very  much  the  same  without  his  illu- 
sions as  he  did  when  he  had  them  on.  He  had  read 
somewhere  a  little  poem  about  "  A  Woman's  No/'  which 
at  the  last  moment  meant  "Yes."  And  then  there  was 
another  which  chronicled  how,  after  several  stanzas  of  up- 
braiding, "we  rushed  into  each  other's  arms."  Both  re- 
curred to  him  now.  He  had  often  thought  how  true  they 
were. 

"I  do  not  think  we  shall  meet  again,"  said  Rachel, 
who  apparently  had  an  unpoetic  nature ;  "  but  I  am  glad 
for  my  own  sake  that  we  have  met  this  once,  and  have 
had  this  conversation.  I  think  we  owed  it  to  each  other 
and  to  our — former  attachment." 

"Well,  good-bye."  He  still  held  her  hand.  If  she  was 
not  careful  she  would  lose  him. 

"Good-bye." 

"You  understand  it  is  for  always  ?" 

"I  do." 

He  became  suddenly  livid.  He  loved  her  more  than 
ever.  Would  she  really  let  him  go  ? 

"  I  am  not  the  kind  of  man  to  be  whistled  back,"  he 
said,  fiercely.  It  was  an  appeal  and  a  defiance,  for  he  was 
just  the  kind  of  man,  and  they  both  knew  it. 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  That  is  your  last  word  ?" 

"My  last  word." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  half  turned  to  go. 

She  made  no  sign. 

Then  he  strode  violently  out  of  the  wood  without  look- 
ing behind  him.  At  the  little  gate  he  stopped  a  moment, 
listening  intently.  No  recalling  voice  reached  him.  Poets 
did  not  know  what  they  were  talking  about.  With  a 
trembling  hand  he  slammed  the  gate  and  departed. 

173 


BED    POTTAGE 

Rachel  remained  a  long  time  sitting  on  the  wooden 
bench,  so  long  that  the  stooping  sun  found  out  the  solemn, 
outstretched  arms  of  the  cedar,  and  touched  them  till 
they  gleamed  green  as  a  beetle's  wing.  Each  little  twig 
and  twiglet  was  made  manifest,  raw  gold  against  the  twi- 
light that  lurked  beneath  the  heavy  boughs. 

She  sat  so  still  that  a  squirrel  came  tiptoeing  across 
the  moss,  and  struck  tail  momentarily  to  observe  her. 
He  looked  critically  at  her,  first  with  one  round  eye,  and 
then,  turning  his  sleek  head,  with  the  other,  and  decided 
that  she  was  harmless. 

Presently  a  robin  dropped  down  close  to  her,  flashing 
up  his  gray  under  wing  as  he  alighted,  and  then  flew  up 
into  the  cedar,  and  from  its  sun-stirred  depths  said  his  say. 

The  robin  never  forgets.  In  the  autumn  afternoons, 
when  the  shadows  are  lengthening,  he  sings  sadness  into 
your  heart.  If  you  are  joyful  shut  your  ears  against  him, 
for  you  may  keep  peace,  but  never  joy,  while  he  is  singing. 
He  knows  all  about  it,  "love's  labor  lost,"  the  gray  face 
of  young  Love  dead,  the  hard-wrought  grave  in  the  live 
rock  where  he  is  buried.  And  he  tells  of  it  again  and 
again  and  again,  as  if  Love's  sharp  sword  had  indeed  red- 
dened his  little  breast,  until  the  heart  aches  to  hear  him. 
But  he  tells  also  that  consolation  is  folded  not  in  forget- 
fulness,  but  in  remembrance.  That  is  why  he  sings  in 
the  silence  of  the  autumn  dawn,  before  Memory  closes  her 
eyes,  and  again  near  sunset,  when  Memory  wakes. 

Still  Rachel  sat  motionless. 

She  had  labored  with  dumb  unreasoning  passion  to  for- 
get, as  a  man  works  his  hand  to  the  bone  night  after  night, 
week  after  week,  month  after  month,  to  file  through  the 
bars  of  his  prison.  She  found  at  last  that  forgetfulness 
came  not  of  prayer  and  fasting ;  that  it  was  not  in  her  to 
forget.  The  past  had  seemed  to  stretch  its  cruel,  desecrat- 
ing hand  over  all  the  future,  cutting  her  off  from  the  pos- 
sibility of  love  and  marriage,  and  from  the  children  who 
in  dreams  she  held  in  her  arms.  As  she  had  said  to 
Hester,  she  thought  she  "had  nothing  left  to  give/' 

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RED    POTTAGE 

But  now  the  dead  past  had  risen  from  its  grave  in  her 
meeting  with  her  former  lover,  and  in  a  moment,  in  two 
short  days  and  wakeful  nights,  the  past  relinquished  its 
false  claim  upon  her  life.  She  saw  that  it  was  false,  that 
she  had  been  frightened  where  no  fear  was,  that  her  de- 
liverance lay  in  remembrance  itself,  not  in  the  handcuffs 
with  which  until  now  she  had  bound  her  deliverer. 

Mr.  Tristram  had  come  back  into  her  life,  and  with 
his  own  hands  had  destroyed  the  overthrown  image  of 
himself,  which  lay  like  a  barrier  across  her  heart.  He 
had  replaced  it  by  an  accurate  presentment  of  himself  as 
he  really  was. 

"  Only  that  which  is  replaced  is  destroyed,"  and  it 
is  often  our  real  self  in  its  native  rags,  and  not,  as  we 
jealously  imagine,  another  king  in  richer  purple  who  has 
replaced  us  in  the  throne-room  of  the  heart  that  loved  us. 
To  the  end  of  life  Eachel  never  forgot  Mr.  Tristram,  any 
more  than  the  amber  forgets  its  fly.  But  she  was  vaguely 
conscious  as  he  left  her  that  he  had  set  her  free.  She 
listened  to  his  retreating  step  hardly  daring  to  breathe. 
It  was  too  good  to  be  true.  At  last  there  was  dead  silence. 
No  echo  of  a  footfall.  Quite  gone.  He  had  departed 
not  only  out  of  her  presence,  but  out  of  her  life. 

She  breathed  again.  A  tremor,  like  that  which'  shakes 
the  first  green  leaf  against  the  March  sky,  stole  across  her 
crushed  heart,  empty  at  last,  empty  at  last.  She  raised 
her  hand  timidly  in  the  sunshine.  She  was  free.  She 
looked  round  dazzled,  bewildered.  The  little  world  of 
sunshine  and  the  turquoises  of  sky  strewn  among  the 
golden  net-work  of  the  trees  smiled  at  her,  as  one  who 
brings  good  tidings. 

A  certain  familiar  hold  on  life  and  nature,  so  old  that  it 
was  almost  new,  which  she  had  forgotten,  but  which  her 
former  self  used  to  feel,  came  back  suddenly  upon  her, 
like  a  lost  friend  from  over -seas.  Scales  seemed  to  fall 
from  her  eyes.  The  light  was  too  much  for  her.  She 
had  forgotten  how  beautiful  the  world  was.  Everything 
was  possible. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Some,  in  the  night  of  their  desolation,  can  take  comfort 
when  they  see  the  morning-star  shuddering  white  in  the 
east,  and  can  say,  "  Courage,  the  day  is  at  hand/' 

But  others  never  realize  that  their  night  is  over  till  the 
sun  is  up.  Rachel  had  sat  in  a  long  stupor.  The  mes- 
sage writ  large  for  her  comfort  in  the  stars  that  the  night 
was  surely  waning  had  not  reached  her,  bowed,  as  she 
thought,  beneath  God's  hand.  And  the  sure  return  of  the 
sun  at  last  came  upon  her  like  a  miracle. 

176 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

"  'Tis  not  for  every  one  to  catch  a  salmon." 

EVERY  one  who  knows  Middleshire  knows  that  the  little 
lake  of  Beaumere  is  bounded  on  the  one  side  by  the  West- 
hope  and  on  the  other  by  the  Wilderleigh  property,  the 
boundary  being  the  ubiquitous  Drone,  which  traverses  the 
mere  in  a  desultory  fashion,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
several  springs  makes  Beaumere  what  it  is,  namely  (to 
quote  from  the  local  guide-book),  "the  noblest  expanse 
of  water  surrounded  by  some  of  the  most  picturesque 
scenery  in  Middleshire. " 

Thither  Doll  and  Hugh  took  their  way  in  the  leisurely 
manner  of  men  whose  orthodoxy  obliges  them  to  regard 
Sunday  as  a  day  of  rest. 

Doll  pointed  out  to  Hugh  the  coppice  which  his  prede- 
cessor, Mr.  George  Loftus,  had  planted.  Hugh  regarded 
it  without  excitement.  Both  agreed  that  it  was  coming 
on  nicely.  Hugh  thought  that  he  ought  to  do  a  little 
planting  at  his  own  place.  Doll  said,  "You  can't  do 
everything  at  once."  A  large  new  farm  was  the  next 
object  of  interest.  "  Uncle  George  rebuilt  Greenfields 
from  the  ground,"  remarked  Doll,  as  they  crossed  the 
high  road  and  took  to  the  harvesting  fields,  where  "the 
ricks  stood  gray  to  the  sun." 

Hugh  nodded.  Doll  thought  he  was  a  very  decent 
chap,  though  rather  low-spirited.  Hugh  thought  that 
if  Mr.  George  Loftus  had  been  alive  he  might  have  con- 
sulted him.  In  an  amicable  silence,  broken  occasionally  by 
whistling  for  Crack,  who  hurried  blear-eyed  and  asthmat- 
ic out  of  rabbit-holes,  the  pair  reached  Beaumere ;  and, 
M  177 


RED    POTTAGE 

after  following  the  path  through  the  wood,  came  sudden- 
ly upon  the  little  lake  locked  in  the  heart  of  the  steeply 
climbing  forest. 

Doll  stood  still  and  pointed  with  his  stick  for  fear  Hugh 
might  overlook  it.  "  I  come  here  every  Sunday,"  he  re- 
marked. 

A  sense  of  unreality  and  foreboding  seized  on  Hugh,  as 
the  still  face  of  the  water  looked  up  at  him.  Where  had 
he  seen  it  before,  this  sea  of  glass  reflecting  the  yellow 
woods  that  stooped  to  its  very  edge  ?  What  had  it  to  do 
with  him  ? 

"  Fve  been  here  before/'  he  said,  involuntarily. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Doll.  "  Newhaven  marches  with 
me  here.  The  boundary  is  by  that  clump  of  silver  birch. 
The  Drone  comes  in  there,  but  you  can't  see  it.  The 
Newhavens  are  friends  of  yours,  aren't  they  ?" 

"Acquaintances,"  said  Hugh,  absently,  looking  hard  at 
the  water.  He  had  never  been  here  before.  Memory 
groped  blindly  for  a  lost  link,  as  one  who  momentarily 
recognizes  a  face  in  a  crowd,  and  tries  to  put  a  name  to 
it  and  fails.  As  the  face  disappears,  so  the  sudden  im- 
pression passed  from  Hugh's  mind. 

"  I  expect  you  have  been  here  with  them,"  said  Doll. 
"Good  man,  Newhaven." 

"  I  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  them  at  one  time,"  said 
Hugh;  "but  they  seem  to  have  forgotten  me  of  late." 

"Oh,  that's  her!"  said  Doll.  "She  is  always  off  and 
on  with  people.  Takes  a  fancy  one  day  and  a  dislike  the 
next.  But  he's  not  like  that.  You  always  know  where 
to  find  him.  Solid  man,  Newhaven.  He  doesn't  say 
much,  but  what  he  says  he  sticks  to." 

"He  gives  one  that  impression,"  said  Hugh. 

"I  rather  think  he  is  there  now,"  said  Doll,  pointing 
to  the  farther  shore.  "  I  see  a  figure  moving,  and  two 
little  specks.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  were  him  and  the 
boys.  They  often  come  here  on  Sunday  afternoons." 

"  You  have  long  sight,"  said  Hugh.  He  had  met  Lord 
Newhaven  several  times  since  the  drawing  of  lots,  and 

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RED    POTTAGE 

they  had  always  greeted  each  other  with  cold  civility. 
But  Hugh  avoided  him  when  he  could  without  drawing 
attention  to  the  fact  that  he  did  so. 

"  Are  you  going  over  to  his  side  ?"  he  asked. 

"Rather  not/'  said  Doll.  "I  have  never  set  a  single 
trimmer  or  fired  a  shot  beyond  that  clump  of  birch,  or 
Uncle  George  before  me." 

The  two  men  picked  their  way  down  the  hill-side  among 
the  tall,  thin  tree-trunks.  There  was  no  one  except  the 
dogs  at  the  keeper's  cottage,  in  a  clearing  half-way  down. 
Doll  took  the  key  of  the  boat-house  from  a  little  hole  un- 
der the  eaves. 

"I  think  Withers  must  be  out,"  he  remarked  at  last, 
after  knocking  and  calling  at  the  locked  door  and  peering 
through  the  closed  window.  Hugh  had  been  of  that 
opinion  for  some  time.  "  Gone  out  with  his  wife,  I  expect. 
Never  mind,  we  can  do  without  him." 

They  went  slipping  over  the  dry  beech-mast  to  the  boat- 
house.  Doll  unlocked  the  door  and  climbed  into  one  of 
the  boats;  Hugh  and  Crack  followed.  They  got  a  perch- 
rod  off  a  long  shelf,  and  half  a  dozen  trimmers.  Then 
they  pulled  out  a  little  way  and  stopped  near  an  arch- 
ipelago of  water-lily  leaves. 

Doll  got  out  the  perch-rod  and  float  and  made  a  cast. 

"  It's  not  fishing,"  he  said,  apologetically,  half  to  his 
guest  and  half  to  his  Maker.  "  But  we  are  bound  to  get 
some  baits." 

Hugh  nodded,  and  gazed  down  at  the  thin  forest  below. 
He  could  see  the  perch  moving  in  little  companies  in  the 
still  water  beyond  the  water-trees.  Presently  a  perch,  a 
very  small  one,  out  alone  for  the  first  time,  came  up,  all 
stiff  head  and  shoulders  and  wagging  tail,  to  the  careless- 
ly covered  hook. 

"Don't,  don't,  you  young  idiot !"  said  Hugh,  below  his 
breath.  But  the  perch  knew  that  the  time  had  come 
when  a  perch  must  judge  for  himself. 

The  float  curtesied  and  went  under,  and  in  another 
second  the  little  independent  was  in  the  boat. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  There  are  other  fools  in  the  world  besides  me,  it 
seems,"  said  Hugh  to  himself. 

"  He'll  do ;  but  I  wish  he  was  a  dace,"  said  Doll,  slip- 
ping the  victim  into  a  tin  with  holes  in  the  top.  "  Half 
a  dozen  will  be  enough." 

They  got  half  a  dozen,  baited  and  set  the  trimmers 
white  side  up,  and  were  turning  to  row  back,  when  Doll's 
eyes  became  suddenly  fixed. 

"  By  Jove  !  there's  something  at  it,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  trimmer  at  some  distance. 

Both  men  looked  intently  at  it.  Crack  felt  that  some- 
thing was  happening,  and  left  off  smelling  the  empty  fish- 
can. 

The  trimmer  began  to  nod,  to  tilt,  and  then  turned  sud- 
denly upsidedown,  and  remained  motionless. 

"  He's  running  the  line  off  it,"  said  Doll. 

As  he  spoke  the  trimmer  gave  one  jerk  and  went  under. 
Then  it  reappeared,  awkwardly  bustling  out  into  the 
open. 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all !  it's  Sunday,"  said  Doll,  with  a  groan. 
"  We  can't  be  catching  pike  on  a  Sunday."  And  he  caught 
up  the  oars  and  rowed  swiftly  towards  the  trimmer. 

As  soon  as  they  were  within  a  boat's  length  it  disap- 
peared again,  came  up  again,  and  went  pecking  along  the 
top  of  the  water.  Doll  pursued  warily,  and  got  hold  of  it. 

"  Gently,  now,"  he  said,  as  he  shipped  the  oars.  "He'll 
go  under  the  boat  and  break  us  if  we  don't  look  out.  I'll 
play  him,  and  you  shove  the  net  under  him.  Damn  ! — 
God  forgive  me ! — we've  come  out  without  a  landing-net. 
Good  Lord,  Scarlett,  you  can't  gaff  him  with  a  champagne- 
opener.  There,  you  pull  him  in,  and  I'll  grab  him  some- 
how. I've  done  it  before.  Crack,  lie  down,  you  infernal 
fool !  Scarlett,  if  you  pull  him  like  that  you'll  lose  him  to 
a  certainty.  By  George,  he's  a  big  one  !"  Doll  tore  off 
his  coat  and  turned  up  his  shirt -sleeves.  "He's  going 
under  the  boat.  If  you  let  him  go  under  the  boat,  I  tell 
you,  he'll  break  us.  I'm  quite  ready."  Doll  was  rubbing 
his  waistcoat-buttons  against  the  gunwale.  "  Bring  him 

180 


RED    POTTAGE 

in  gradually.  For  goodness'  sake,  keep  your  feet  off  the 
line,  or,  if  he  makes  a  dash,  he'll  break  you  !  Give  him 
line.  Keep  your  elbows  out.  Keep  your  hands  free. 
Don't  let  him  jerk  you.  If  you  don't  give  him  more  line 
when  he  runs,  you'll  lose  him.  He's  not  half  done  yet. 
Confound  you,  Scarlett !  hold  on  for  all  you're  worth.  All 
right,  old  chap,  all  right.  Don't  mind  me.  You're  doing 
it  first-class.  Right  as  rain.  Now,  now.  By  George  !  did 
you  see  him  that  time  ?  He's  a  nailer !  Steady  on  him  ! 
Bring  him  in  gently.  Keep  an  even  pull  on  him.  Keep 
steady !" 

Doll  craned  over  the  gunwale,  his  arms  in  the  water. 
There  was  a  swirl,  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  stolid  fish, 
face  and  heavy  shoulders,  and  the  boat  righted  itself. 

"Missed  him,  as  I  live  !"  gasped  Doll.  "  Bring  him  in 
again." 

Hugh  let  out  the  slippery  line,  and  drew  it  in  again  slow- 
ly, hand  over  hand.  Doll's  round  head  was  over  the  side, 
his  long  legs  spread  adhesively  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Crack,  beyond  himself  with  excitement,  got  on  the  seat 
and  barked  without  ceasing. 

"He's  coming  up  again,"  said  Doll,  gutturally,  sliding 
forward  his  left  hand.  "  I  must  get  him  by  the  eyes,  arid 
then  I  doubt  if  I  can  lift  him.  He's  a  big  brute.  He's 
dragging  the  whole  boat  and  everything.  He's  about 
done  now.  Steady  !  Now !" 

The  great  side  of  the  pike  lay  heaving  on  the  surface 
for  a  second,  and  Doll's  left  forefinger  and  thumb  were 
groping  for  its  eyes.  But  the  agonized  pike  made  a  last 
effort.  Doll  had  him  with  his  left  hand,  but  could  not 
raise  him.  "Pull  him  in  now  for  all  you're  worth,"  he 
roared  to  Hugh,  as  he  made  a  grab  with  his  right  hand. 
His  legs  began  to  lose  their  grip  under  the  violent  contor- 
tions of  the  pike.  The  boat  tilted  madly.  Hugh  reached 
forward  to  help  him.  There  was  a  frantic  effort,  and  it 
capsized, 

"Bad  luck,"  said  Doll,  coming  up  spluttering,  shaking 
his  head  like  a  spaniel.  "  But  we  shall  get  him  yet.  He's 

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RED    POTTAGE 

bleeding  like  a  pig.  He'll  come  np  directly.  Good  Lord! 
the  water's  like  ice.  We  must  be  over  one  of  the  springs. 
I  suppose  you  are  all  right,  Scarlett/' 

Hugh  had  come  up,  but  in  very  different  fashion. 

"Yes,''  he  said,  faintly,  clutching  the  upturned  boat. 

"I'm  not  sure/'  said  Doll,  keeping  going  with  one 
hand,  "  that  we  had  not  better  get  ashore  and  fetch  the 
other  boat.  The  water's  enough  to  freeze  one." 

"  I  can't  swim,"  said  Hugh,  his  teeth  chattering. 

He  was  a  delicate  man  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the  cold 
was  laying  hold  of  him. 

Doll  looked  at  his  blue  lips  and  shaking  hands,  and  his 
face  became  grave.  He  measured  the  distance  to  the 
shore  with  his  eye.  It  had  receded  in  a  treacherous  man- 
ner. 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  performer  myself,"  he  said,  "  since 
I  broke  my  arm  last  winter,  but  I  can  get  to  the  shore. 
The  question  is,  can  you  hold  on  while  I  go  back  and 
bring  the  other  boat,  or  shall  we  have  a  try  at  getting 
back  together  ?" 

"I  can  hold  on  all  right,"  said  Hugh,  instantly  aware 
that  Doll  did  not  think  he  could  tow  him  to  land,  but  was 
politely  ready  to  risk  his  existence  in  the  attempt. 

"Back  directly,"  said  Doll,  and  without  a  second's  de- 
lay he  was  gone.  Hugh  put  out  his  whole  strength  in  the 
endeavor  to  raise  himself  somewhat  out  of  the  ice-cold 
water.  But  the  upturned  boat  sidled  away  from  him  like 
a  skittish  horse,  and  after  grappling  with  it  he  only 
slipped  back  again  exhausted,  and  had  to  clutch  it  as  best 
he  could. 

As  he  clung  to  the  gunwale  he  heard  a  faint  coughing 
and  gasping  close  to  his  ear.  Some  one  was  drowning. 
Hugh  realized  that  it  must  be  Crack,  under  the  boat.  He 
called  to  him;  he  chirruped,  as  if  all  were  well.  He 
stretched  one  hand  as  far  as  he  could  under  the  boat  feel- 
ing for  him.  But  he  could  not  reach  him.  Presently  the 
faint,  difficult  sound  ceased,  began  again,  stopped,  and  was 
heard  no  more. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

A  great  silence  seemed  to  rush  in  on  the  extinction  of 
that  small  sound.  It  stooped  down  and  enveloped  Hugh 
in  it.  Everything  was  very  calm,  very  still.  The  boat 
kept  turning  slowly  round  and  round,  the  only  thing  that 
moved.  The  sunlight  quivered  on  the  wet,  upturned 
keel.  Already  it  was  drying  in  patches.  Hugh  watched 
it.  The  cold  was  sapping  his  powers  as  if  he  were  bleed- 
ing. 

"  I  could  have  built  a  boat  in  the  time  Loftus  takes  to 
fetch  one,"- he  said  to  himself,  and  he  looked  round  him. 
No  sign  of  Doll.  He  was  alone  in  the  world.  The  cold 
was  gaining  on  him  slowly,  surely.  Why  had  he  on  such 
heavy  gloves,  which  made  him  fumble  so  clumsily.  He 
looked  at  his  bare  cut  hands,  and  realized  that  their  grip 
was  leaving  them.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  measurable 
distance  of  losing  his  hold. 

Suddenly  a  remembrance  flashed  across  him  of  the  sin- 
ister face  of  the  water  as  it  had  first  looked  up  at  him 
through  the  trees.  Now  he  understood.  This  was  the 
appointed  place  for  him  to  die.  Hugh  tightened  his  hold 
with  his  right  hand,  for  his  left  was  paralyzed. 

"I  will  not,"  he  said.  " Nothing  shall  induce  me.  I 
will  live  and  marry  Rachel." 

The  cold  advanced  suddenly  on  him,  as  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet. 

"  Why  not  die  ?"  said  another  voice.  "  Will  it  be  easier 
in  three  months"  time  than  it  is  now  ?  Will  it  ever  be  so 
easy  again  ?  See  how  near  death  is  to  life,  a  wheel  within 
a  wheel,  two  rings  linked  together.  A  touch,  and  you 
pass  from  one  to  the  other." 

Hugh  looked  wildly  round  him.  The  sun  lay  warm 
upon  the  tree-tops.  It  could  not  be  that  he  was  going  to 
die  here  and  now ;  here  in  the  living  sunshine,  with  the 
quiet,  friendly  faces  of  the  hills  all  around  him. 

He  strengthened  his  numb  hold  fiercely,  all  but  lost  it, 
regained  it.  Cramp,  long  held  at  bay,  overcame  him. 

And  the  boat  kept  turning  in  the  twilight.  He  reached 
the  end  of  his  strength,  and  held  on  beyond  it.  He  heard 

183 


EED    POTTAGE 

some  one  near  at  hand  suffocating  in  long-drawn  gasps. 
Not  Crack  this  time,  but  himself. 

The  boat  was  always  turning  in  the  darkness. 

The  struggle  was  over.  "It  is  better  so,"  said  the  other 
voice,  through  the  roaring  of  a  cataract  near  at  hand. 
"  Your  mother  will  bear  it  better  so.  And  all  the  long 
difficulties  are  over,  and  pain  is  past,  and  life  is  past,  and 
sleep  is  best." 

"But  Eachel?" 

She  was  here  in  the  warm,  swaying  darkness.  She  was 
with  him.  She  was  Death.  Death  was  only  her  arms 
round  him  in  a  great  peace.  Death  was  better  than  life. 
He  let  go  the  silly  boat  that  kept  him  from  her  and 
turned  wholly  to  her,  his  closed  eyes  against  her  breast. 

184 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

The  main  difference  between  people  seems  to  be  that  one  man  can 
come  under  obligations  on  which  you  can  rely  —  is  obligable — and 
another  is  not.  As  he  has  not  a  law  within  him,  there's  nothing  to 
tie  him  to. — EMERSON. 

"FATHER,"  said  Teddy  to  Lord  Newhaven,  "  do — do  be 
a  horse,  and  I  will  ride  you  in  the  water." 

"Me,  too/' said  Pauly. 

"  I  am  not  anxious  to  be  a  horse,  Teddy.  Fm  quite  con- 
tent as  I  am/' 

Lord  Newhaven  was  stretched  in  an  easy  but  undefen- 
sive  attitude  on  the  heathery  bank,  with  his  hands  behind 
his  head.  His  two  sons  rushed  simultaneously  at  him  and 
knelt  on  his  chest. 

"  Promise  I"  they  cried,  punching  him.  "  Two  turns 
each."  There  was  a  free  fight,  and  Lord  Newhaven  promised. 

"  Honor  bright !     Two  turns  each,  and  really  deep  !" 

"  Honor  bright,"  said  Lord  Newhaven. 

His  two  sons  got  off  his  chest,  and  Teddy  climbed  on 
his  back  in  readiness,  as  his  father  sat  up  and  began  to  un- 
lace his  boots. 

"Higher!"  said  Teddy,  over  his  shoulder,  his  arms 
tightly  clasped  round  his  father's  neck,  as  Lord  Newhaven 
rolled  up  his  trousers. 

"  You  young  slave-driver,  they  won't  go  up  any  higher." 

"You  said  'honor  bright.'"  ' 

(t  Well,  Shylock,  I  am  (  honor  bright/  ' 

''You  had  them  over  your  knees  last  time/' 

f ( I  had  knickerbockers  on,  then." 

"  Won't  these  do  the  same  ?" 

"  They  won't  come  up  another  inch," 

185 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Then  one,  two,  three — off  !"  shrieked  Teddy,  digging 
his  heels  into  the  parental  hack. 

The  horse  displayed  surprising  agility.  It  curveted,  it 
kicked,  it  jumped  a  little  drain,  it  careered  into  the  water, 
making  a  tremendous  splashing. 

The  two  boys  screamed  with  delight. 

But  at  last  the  horse  sat  down  on  the  bank  gasping, 
wiped  its  forehead,  and,  in  spite  of  frenzied  entreaties, 
proceeded  to  put  on  its  socks  and  boots. 

Lord  Newhaven  was  not  to  be  moved  a  second  time. 
He  lit  a  cigarette  and  observed  that  the  moment  for  sail- 
ing boats  had  arrived. 

The  boats  were  accordingly  sailed.  Lord  Newhaven 
tilted  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  acted  as  umpire. 

"  It  is  not  usual  to  sail  boats  upsidedown,"  he  said,  see- 
ing Teddy  deliberately  upset  his. 

' '  They  are  doing  it  out  there/'  said  Teddy,  who  had  a 
reason  for  most  things.  And  he  continued  to  sail  his  boat 
upsidedown. 

Lord  Newhaven  got  up,  and  swept  the  water  with  his 
eye.  His  face  became  keen.  Then  his  glance  fell  anxious- 
ly on  the  children. 

"  Teddy  and  Pauly,"  he  said,  "  promise  me  that  you 
will  both  play  on  this  one  bit  of  sand,  and  not  go  in  the 
water  till  I  come  back." 

They  promised,  staring  bewildered  at  their  father. 

In  another  moment  Lord  Newhaven  was  tearing  through 
the  brushwood  that  fringed  the  water's  edge. 

As  he  neared  the  boat-house  he  saw  another  figure  try- 
ing to  shove  out  the  remaining  boat. 

It  was  Doll.  Lord  Newhaven  pushed  her  off  and  jumped 
in. 

Doll  was  almost  speechless.  His  breath  came  in  long 
gasps.  The  sweat  hung  on  his  forehead.  He  pointed  to 
the  black,  upturned  boat. 

"  This  one  leaks,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  sharply. 

"  It's  got  to  go  all  the  same,  and  sharp,"  said  Doll, 
hoarsely. 

186 


RED    POTTAGE 

Lord  Newhaven  seized  a  fishing-tin  and  thrust  it  into 
Doll's  hands. 

"  You  bale  while  I  row/'  he  said,  and  he  rowed  as  he 
bad  never  rowed  before. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  he  said,  as  the  boat  shot  out  into  the 
open. 

Doll  was  baling  like  a  madman. 

"  Scarlett/'  he  said.  "  And  he's  over  one  of  the  springs. 
He'll  get  cramp." 

Lord  Newhaven  strained  at  the  oars. 

Consciousness  was  coming  back,  was  slowly  climbing  up- 
wards, upwards  through  immense  intervals  of  time  and 
space,  to  where  at  last,  with  a  wrench,  pain  met  it  half-way. 
Hugh  stirred  feebly  in  the  dark  of  a  great  forlornness  and 
loneliness. 

"  Rachel/'  he  said— "Rachel." 

His  head  was  gently  raised,  and  a  cup  pressed  to  his 
lips.  He  swallowed  something. 

He  groped  in  the  darkness  for  a  window,  and  then 
opened  his  eyes.  Lord  Newhaven  withdrew  a  pace  or  two, 
and  stood  looking  at  him. 

Their  eyes  met. 

Neither  spoke ;  but  Hugh's  eyes,  dark  with  the  shadow 
of  death,  said  plainly,  "  Hast  thou  found  me,  0  mine 
enemy  ?" 

Then  he  turned  them  slowly,  as  an  infant  turns  them 
to  the  sky,  the  climbing  woods,  leaning  over  each  other's 
shoulders  to  look  at  him,  to  the  warm  earth  on  which  he 
lay.  At  a  little  distance  was  stretched  a  small  rough- 
haired  form.  Hugh's  eyes  fixed  on  it.  It  lay  very  still. 

"Crack," he  said,  suddenly,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow. 

There  was  neither  speech  nor  language.  Crack's  tail, 
that  courteous  member,  made  no  sign. 

"He  was  under  the  boat,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  look- 
ing narrowly  at  the  exhausted  face  of  the  man  he  had 
saved,  and  unable  for  the  life  of  him  to  help  a  momentary 
fellow-feeling  about  the  little  dog. 

187 


RED    POTTAGE 

Hugh  remembered.  It  all  came  back,  the  boat,  Crack's 
dying  gasps,  the  agonized  struggle,  the  strait  gate  of  death, 
the  difficult  passage  through  it,  the  calm  beyond.  He 
had  almost  got  through,  and  had  been  dragged  back. 

"Why  did  you  interfere  ?"  he  said,  in  sudden  passion, 
his  eyes  flaming  in  his  white  face. 

A  dull  color  rose  to  Lord  Newhaven's  cheek. 

"I  thought  it  was  an  accident,"  he  said.  "If  it  was 
not,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  said  Hugh,  hoarsely,  and  he  turned 
on  his  elbow  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  water,  so  that  his 
companion  might  not  see  the  working  of  his  face. 

Lord  Newhaven  walked  slowly  away  in  the  direction  of 
Doll,  whose  distant  figure,  followed  by  another,  was  hurry- 
ing towards  them. 

"  And  so  there  is  a  Rachel  as  well,  is  there  ?"  he  said 
to  himself,  vainly  trying  to  steel  himself  against  his  adver- 
sary. 

"How  is  he  now  ?"  said  Doll,  coming  within  ear-shot. 

"  He's  all  right ;  but  you'd  better  get  him  into  dry 
clothes,  and  yourself,  too." 

"  Change  on  the  bank/'  said  Doll,  seizing  a  bundle 
from  the  keeper.  "  It's  as  hot  as  an  oven  in  the  sun. 
Why,  Scarlett's  sitting  up  !  I  thought  when  we  laid  into 
him  on  the  bank  that  he  was  too  far  gone,  didn't  you  ? 
I  suppose" — hesitating — "Crack  ?" 

Lord  Newhaven  shook  his  head. 

"I  must  go  back  to  my  boys  now,"  he  said,  "or  they 
will  be  getting  into  mischief." 

Doll  nodded.  He  and  Lord  Newhaven  had  had  a  hard 
fight  to  get  the  leaking  boat  to  land  with  Hugh  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  It  had  filled  ominously  when  Doll  ceased 
baling  to  help  to  drag  in  the  heavy,  unconscious  body. 

There  had  been  a  moment  when,  inapprehensive  as  he 
was,  Doll  had  remembered,  with  a  qualm,  that  Lord  New- 
haven  could  not  swim. 

"  Every  fellow  ought  to  swim,"  was  the  moral  he  drew 

188 


RED    POTTAGE 

from  the  incident  and  repeated  to  his  wife,  who,  struck 
by  the  soundness  of  the  remark,  repeated  it  to  the  Gusleys. 

Lord  Newhaven  retraced  his  steps  slowly  along  the 
bank  in  his  water-logged  boots.  He  was  tired,  and  he  did 
not  hurry,  for  he  could  see  in  the  distance  two  small 
figures  sitting  faithfully  on  a  log  where  he  had  left  them. 

"  Good  little  chaps,"  he  said,  half  aloud. 

In  spite  of  himself  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Hugh. 
His  feelings  towards  him  had  not  changed,  but  they  had 
been  forced  during  the  last  half-hour  out  of  their  original 
intrenchments  into  the  open,  and  were  liable  to  attack 
from  new  directions. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  virtually  saved  Hugh's  life,  for 
Doll  would  never  have  got  him  into  the  leaking  boat  and 
kept  it  afloat  single-handed.  That  first  moment  of  en- 
thusiasm, when  he  had  rubbed  the  senseless  limbs  and 
breathed  into  the  cold  lips,  and  had  felt  his  heart,  leap 
when  life  came  halting  back  into  them,  that  moment  had 
passed  and  left  him  cold. 

But  Hugh's  melancholy  eyes,  as  they  opened  once  more 
on  this  world  and  met  his  unflinchingly,  haunted  him,  and 
he  remembered  the  sudden  anger  at  his  interference.  It 
was  the  intrenchment  of  his  contempt  that  Lord  New- 
haven  missed. 

A  meaner  nature  would  not  have  let  him  off  so  easily 
as  Hugh  had  done. 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  he  said  to  himself,  unwillingly. 
"  He  need  not  have  admitted  that,  but  I  should  have  been 
on  a  gridiron  if  he  had  not.  In  different  circumstances 
that  man  and  I  might  have  been  friends.  And  if  he  had 
got  into  a  scrape  of  this  kind  a  little  further  afield  I  might 
have  helped  to  get  him  out  of  it.  He  feels  it.  He  has 
aged  during  the  last  two  months.  But  as  it  is —  Upon 
my  word,  if  he  were  a  boy  I  should  have  had  to  let  him 
off.  It  would  have  been  too  bloodthirsty.  But  he  is 
seven-and-twenty.  He  is  old  enough  to  know  better. 
She  made  a  fool  of  him,  of  course.  She  made  a  greater 
one  of  me  once,  for  I — married  her." 

189 


RED    POTTAGE 

Lord  Newhaven  reviewed  with  a  dispassionate  eye  his 
courtship  and  marriage. 

"  A  wood  anemone/'  he  said  to  himself ;  ' ( I  likened  her 
to  a  wood  anemone.  Good  Lord  !  And  I  was  thirty  years 
of  age,  while  this  poor  devil  is  twenty-seven/' 

Lord  Newhaven  stopped  short  with  fixed  eyes. 

"I  "believe  I  should  have  to  let  him  off,"  he  said,  half- 
aloud.  "I  believe  I  would  let  him  off  if  I  was  not  as  cer- 
tain as  I  stand  here  that  he  will  never  do  it." 

190 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

"The  less  wit  a  man  has,  the  less  he  knows  that  he  wants  it." 

HESTER  always  took  charge  of  the  three  elder  children 
and  Fraulein  of  the  baby  during  the  six-o'clock  service, 
so  that  the  nurse  might  go  to  church.  On  this  particular 
Sunday  afternoon  Hester  and  the  children  were  waiting 
in  the  little  hall  till  the  bell  stopped,  before  which  mo- 
ment they  were  forbidden  to  leave  the  house.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gnsley  had  just  started  for  the  church,  Mr.  Gasley 
looking  worn  and  harassed,  for  since  luncheon  he  had  re- 
ceived what  he  called  " a  perfectly  unaccountable  letter" 
from  one  of  his  principal  parishioners,  a  Dissenter,  who  had 
been  present  at  the  morning  service,  and  who  Mr.  Gusley 
had  confidently  hoped  might  have  been  struck  by  the 
sermon.  This  hope  had  been  justified,  but  not  in  the 
manner  Mr.  Gusley  had  expected.  Mr.  Walsh  opined,  in 
a  large  round  hand,  that  as  worms  (twice  under-dashed) 
did  not  usually  pay  voluntary  church  and  school  rates  he 
no  longer  felt  himself  under  an  obligation  to  do  so,  etc. 
The  letter  was  a  great,  an  unexpected,  blow.  Who  could 
have  foreseen  such  a  result  of  the  morning's  eloquence. 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  tremulously,  "that 
they  can't  and  won't  hear  reason.  They  can't  controvert 
what  I  say,  so  they  take  refuge  in  petty  spite  like  this.  I 
must  own  I  am  disappointed  in  Walsh.  He  is  a  man  of 
some  education,  and  liberal  as  regards  money.  I  had 
thought  he  was  better  than  most  of  them,  and  now  he 
turns  on  me  like  this." 

"It's  a  way  worms  have,"  said  Hester. 

"Oh,  don't  run  a  simile  to  death,  Hester,"  said  Mr. 

191 


RED    POTTAGE 

Gusley,  impatiently.  "  If  you  had  listened  to  what  I  tried 
to  say  this  morning  you  would  have  seen  I  only  used  the 
word  worm  figuratively.  I  never  meant  it  literally,  as  any 
one  could  see  who  was  not  determined  to  misunderstand 
me.  Worms  pay  school  -  rates  !  Such  folly  is  positively 
sickening,  if  it  were  not  malicious." 

Hester  had  remained  silent.  She  had  been  deeply  vexed 
for  her  brother  at  the  incident. 

As  the  church-bell  stopped  the  swing-door  opened,  and 
Boulou  hurried  in,  like  a  great  personage,  conscious  that 
others  have  waited,  and  bearing  with  him  an  aroma  of 
Irish  stew  and  onions,  which  showed  that  he  had  been 
exchanging  affabilities  with  the  cook.  For  the  truth 
must  be  owned.  No  spinster  over  forty  could  look  un- 
moved on  Boulou.  Alas !  for  the  Vicarage  cook,  who 
"had  kept  herself  to  herself"  for  nearly  fifty  years,  only 
to  fall  the  victim  of  a  f '  grande  passion  "  for  Boulou. 

The  little  Lovelace  bounded  in,  and  the  expedition 
started.  It  was  Regie's  turn  to  choose  where  they  should 
go,  and  he  decided  on  the  "  shrubbery,"  a  little  wood 
through  which  ran  the  private  path  to  Wilderleigh.  Doll 
Loftus  had  given  the  Gusleys  leave  to  take  the  children 
there. 

"  Oh,  Regie,  we  always  go  there,"  said  Mary,  plaintive- 
ly, who  invariably  chose  the  Pratts'  park,  with  its  rustic 
bridges  and  chdlets,  which  Mr.  Pratt,  in  a  gracious  mo- 
ment, had  ' ( thrown  open  "  to  the  Gusleys  on  Sundays,  be- 
cause, as  he  expressed  it,  "  they  must  feel  so  cramped  in 
their  little  garden." 

But  Regie  adhered  to  his  determination,  and  to  the 
" shrubberies"  they  went.  Hester  was  too  tired  to  play 
with  them,  too  tired  even  to  tell  them  a  story ;  so  she  sat 
under  a  tree  while  they  circled  in  the  coppice  near  at 
hand. 

As  we  grow  older  we  realize  that  in  the  new  gardens 
where  life  leads  us  we  never  learn  the  shrubs  and  trees  by 
heart  as  we  did  as  children  in  our  old  Garden  of  Eden, 
round  the  little  gabled  house  where  we  were  born.  We 

192 


UK  I)    POTTAfiK 

were  so  thorough  as  children.  We  knew  the  underneath 
of  every  laurel-bush,  the  shape  of  its  bunches  of  darkling 
branches,  the  green  dust  that  our  small  restless  bodies 
rubbed  off  from  its  under  twigs.  We  see  now  as  strangers 
those  little  hanging  horse-tails  of  pink,  which  sad-faced 
elders  call  ribes  ;  but  once  long  ago,  when  the  world  was 
young,  we  knew  them  eye  to  eye,  and  the  compact  little 
black  insects  on  them,  and  the  quaint  taste  of  them,  and 
the  clean  smell  of  them.  Everything  had  a  taste  in  those 
days,  and  was  submitted  to  that  test,  just  as  until  it  had 
been  licked  the  real  color  of  any  object  of  interest  was 
not  ascertained.  There  was  a  certain  scarlet  berry,  very 
red  without  and  very  white  within,  which  we  were  warned 
was  deadly  poison.  How  well,  after  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
we  remember  the  bitter  taste  of  it ;  how  much  better  than 
many  other  forbidden  fruits  duly  essayed  in  later  years. 
We  ate  those  scarlet  berries  and  lived,  though  warned  to 
the  contrary. 

Presently  Boulou,  who  could  do  nothing  simply,  found 
a  dead  mouse,  where  any  one  else  could  have  found  it,  in 
the  middle  of  the  path,  and  made  it  an  occasion  for  a 
theatrical  display  of  growlings  and  shakings.  The  chil- 
dren decided  to  bury  it,  and  after  a  becoming  silence  their 
voices  could  be  heard  singing  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  as 
the  body  was  being  lowered  into  the  grave  previously  dug 
by  Boulou,  who  had  to  be  forcibly  restrained  from  going 
on  digging  it  after  the  obsequies  were  over. 

"  He  never  knows  when  to  stop,"  said  Eegie,  wearily, 
as  Boulou,  with  a  little  plaster  of  earth  on  his  nose,  was 
carried  coughing  back  to  Hester. 

As  she  took  him  Eachel  and  Sybell  came  slowly  down 
the  path  towards  them,  and  the  latter  greeted  Hester  with 
an  effusion  which  suggested  that  when  two  is  not  com- 
pany three  may  be. 

"  A  most  vexing  thing  has  happened,"  said  Sybell,  in  a 
gratified  tone,  sitting  down  under  Hester's  tree.  "  I 
really  don't  think  I  am  to  blame.  You  know  Mr.  Tris- 
tram, the  charming  artist  who  has  been  staying  with  us  ?" 
N  193 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Hester. 

' '  Well,  he  was  set  on  making  a  sketch  of  me  for  one  of 
his  large  pictures,  and  it  was  to  have  been  finished  to-day. 
I  don't  see  any  harm  myself  in  drawing  on  Sunday.  I 
know  the  Gusleys  do,  and  I  love  the  Gusleys,  he  has  such 
a  powerful  mind ;  but  one  must  think  for  one's  self,  and  it 
was  only  the  upper  lip,  so  I  consented  to  sit  for  him  at 
four  o'clock.  I  noticed  he  seemed  a  little — well  rather — " 

is  Just  so/'  said  Hester. 

"  The  last  few  days.  But,  of  course,  I  took  no  notice 
of  it.  A  married  woman  often  has  to  deal  with  such 
things  without  making  a  fuss  about  them.  Well,  I  over- 
slept myself,  and  it  was  nearly  half-past  four  before  I 
awoke.  And  when  I  went  into  my  sitting-room  a  servant 
brought  me  a  note.  It  was  from  him,  saying  he  had 
been  obliged  to  leave  Wilderleigh  suddenly  on  urgent 
business,  and  asking  that  his  baggage  might  be  sent  after 
him." 

Hester  raised  her  eyes  slightly,  as  if  words  failed  her. 
Sybell's  conversation  always  interested  her. 

' '  Perhaps  the  reason  she  is  never  told  anything,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  is  because  the  ground  the  confidence 
would  cover  is  invariably  built  over  already  by  a  fiction  of 
her  own  which  it  would  not  please  her  to  see  destroyed." 

"Who  would  have  thought,"  continued  Sybell,  "that 
he  would  have  behaved  in  that  way  because  I  was  one 
little  half -hour  late.  And  of  course  the  pretext  of  urgent 
business  is  too  transparent,  because  there  is  no  Sunday 
post,  and  the  telegraph-boy  had  not  been  up.  I  asked 
that.  And  he  was  so  anxious  to  finish  the  sketch.  He 
almost  asked  to  stay  over  Sunday  on  purpose." 

Rachel  and  Hester  looked  on  the  ground. 

"  Rachel  said  he  was  all  right  in  the  garden  just  before, 
didn't  you,  Rachel  ?" 

"  I  said  I  thought  he  was  a  little  nervous." 

' '  And  what  did  he  talk  to  you  about  ?" 

"  He  spoke  about  the  low  tone  of  the  morals  of  the  day, 
and  about  marriage." 

194 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Ah  I  I  don't  wonder  he  talked  to  you,  Rachel,  you 
are  so  sympathetic.  I  expect  lots  of  people  confide  in 
you  about  their  troubles  and  love  affairs.  Morals  of  the 
day !  Marriage  !  Poor,  poor  Mr.  Tristram  !  I  shall  telb 
Doll  quietly  this  evening.  On  the  whole,  it  is  just  as  well 
he  is  gone." 

"Just  as  well/'  said  Rachel  and  Hester,  with  surprising 
unanimity. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

So  fast  does  a  little  leaven  spread  within  us— so  incalculable  is  the 
effect  of  one  personality  on  another. — GEORGE  ELIOT. 

HUGH  was  not  ill  after  what  Mr.  Gusley  called  "  his 
immersion/'  but  for  some  days  he  remained  feeble  and 
exhausted.  Sybell  quite  forgot  she  had  not  liked  him, 
insisted  on  his  staying  on  indefinitely  at  Wilderleigh,  and, 
undaunted  by  her  distressing  experience  with  Mr.  Tris- 
tram, read  poetry  to  Hugh  in  the  afternoons  and  sur- 
rounded him  with  genuine  warm-hearted  care.  Doll  was 
steadily,  quietly  kind. 

It  was  during  these  days  that  Hugh  and  Rachel  saw 
much  of  each  other,  during  these  days  that  Rachel  passed 
in  spite  of  herself  beyond  the  anxious  impersonal  interest 
which  Hugh  had  awakened  in  her,  on  to  that  slippery 
much-trodden  ground  of  uncomfortable  possibilities  where 
the  unmarried  meet. 

Hugh  attracted  and  repelled  her. 

It  was,  alas  !  easy  to  say  why  she  was  repelled.  But  who 
shall  say  why  she  was  attracted  ?  Has  the  secret  law  ever 
been  discovered  which  draws  one  man  and  woman  together 
amid  the  crowd  ?  Hugh  was  not  among  the  best  men 
who  had  wished  to  marry  her,  but  nevertheless  he  was  the 
only  man  since  Mr.  Tristram  who  had  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing her  think  continually  of  him.  And  perhaps  she  half 
knew  that  though  she  had  been  loved  by  better  men, 
Hugh  loved  her  better  than  they  had. 

Which  would  prove  the  stronger,  the  attraction  or  the 
repulsion? 

"  How  can  I  ?"  she  said  to  herself,  over  and  over  again. 

196 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  When  I  remember  Lady  Newhaven,  how  can  I  ?  When 
I  think  of  what  his  conduct  was  for  a  whole  year,  how  can 
I  ?  Can  he  have  any  sense  of  honor  to  have  acted  like 
that  ?  Is  he  even  really  sorry  ?  He  is  very  charming, 
very  refined,  and  he  loves  me.  He  looks  good,  but  what 
do  I  know  of  him  except  evil  ?  He  looks  as  if  he  could 
be  faithful,  but  how  can  I  trust  him  ?" 

Hugh  fell  into  a  deep  dejection  after  his  narrow  es- 
cape. Dr.  Brown  said  it  was  nervous  prostration,  and 
Doll  rode  into  Southminster  and  returned  laden  with 
comic  papers.  Who  shall  say  whether  the  cause  was 
physical  or  mental  ?  Hugh  had  seen  death  very  near  for 
the  first  time,  and  the  thought  of  death  haunted  him. 
He  had  not  realized  when  he  drew  lots  that  he  was  risk- 
ing the  possibility  of  anything  like  that,  such  an  entire 
going  away,  such  an  awful  rending  of  his  being  as  the 
short  word  death  now  conveyed  to  him.  He  had  had 
no  idea  it  would  be  like  that.  And  he  had  got  to  do 
it  again.  There  was  the  crux.  He  had  got  to  do  it 
again. 

He  leaned  back  faint  and  shuddering  in  the  deck-chair 
in  the  rose-garden  where  he  was  lying. 

Presently  Rachel  appeared,  coming  towards  him  down 
the  narrow  grass  walk  between  two  high  walls  of  holly- 
hocks. She  had  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  hand. 

"I  have  brought  you  this,"  she  said,  "with  a  warning 
that  you  had  better  not  come  in  to  tea.  Mr.  Gusley  has 
been  sighted  walking  up  the  drive.  Mrs.  Loftus  thought 
you  would  like  to  see  him,  but  I  reminded  her  that  Dr. 
Brown  said  you  were  to  be  kept  very  quiet." 

Mr.  Gusley  had  called  every  day  since  the  accident  in 
order  to  cheer  the  sufferer,  to  whom  he  had  been  greatly 
attracted.  Hugh  had  seen  him  once,  and  afterwards  had 
never  felt  strong  enough  to  repeat  the  process. 

"  Must  you  go  back  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Loftus  and  he  are  great  friends. 
I  should  be  rather  in  the  way." 

And  she  sat  down  by  him. 

197 


1IED    POTTAGE 

"Are  you  feeling  ill?"  she  said,  gently,  noticing  his 
careworn  face. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  only  thinking.  I  was  think- 
ing," he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  that  I  would  give  every- 
thing I  possess  not  to  have  done  something  which  I  have 
done." 

Eachel  looked  straight  in  front  of  her.  The  confession 
was  coming  at  last.  Her  heart  beat. 

"  I  have  done  wrong,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  and  I  am  suf- 
fering for  it,  and  I  shall  suffer  more  before  Fve  finished. 
But  the  worst  is — " 

She  looked  at  him. 

"  The  worst  is  that  I  can't  bear  all  the  consequences 
myself.  An  innocent  person  will  pay  the  penalty  of  my 
sin." 

Hugh's  voice  faltered.     He  was  thinking  of  his  mother. 

Rachel's  mind  instantly  flew  to  Lord  Newhaven. 

"Then  Lord  Newhaven  drew  the  short  lighter,"  she 
thought,  and  she  colored  deeply. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Hugh,  smiling  faintly,  "  that  peo- 
ple are  ever  given  a  second  chance  ?" 

"  Always,"  said  Rachel.     "  If  not  here — afterwards." 

"If  I  were  given  another,"  said  Hugh.  "If  I  might 
only  be  given  another  now  in  this  life  I  should  take  it." 

He  was  thinking  if  only  he  might  be  let  off  this  dread- 
ful self-inflicted  death.  She  thought  he  meant  that  he 
repented  of  his  sin,  and  would  fain  do  better. 

There  was  a  sound  of  voices  near  at  hand.  Sybell  and 
Mr.  Gusley  came  down  the  grass  walk  towards  them. 

"London  society,"  Mr.  Gusley  was  saying,  "to  live  in 
a  stuffy  street  away  from  the  beauties  of  Nature,  its  birds 
and  flowers,  to  spend  half  my  days  laying  traps  for  invita- 
tions, and  half  my  nights  grinning  like  a  fool  in  stifling 
drawing-rooms,  listening  to  vapid  talk.  No,  thanks!  I 
know  better  than  to  care  for  London  society.  Hester 
does,  I  know,  but  then  Hester  does  not  mind  making  up 
to  big  people,  and  I  do.  In  fact  — 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  have  brought  Mr.  Gusley,  after  all,  in  spite  of  Dr. 
Brown,"  said  Sybell,  "  because  we  were  in  the  middle  of 
such  an  interesting  conversation  on  the  snares  of  society 
that  I  knew  you  would  like  to  hear  it.  You  have  had 
such  a  dull  day  with  Doll  away  at  his  County  Council." 

That  night,  as  Rachel  sat  in  her  room,  she  went  over  that 
half-made,  ruthlessly  interrupted  confidence. 

"  He  does  repent,"  she  said  to  herself,  recalling  the 
careworn  face.  "If  he  does,  can  I  overlook  the  past? 
Can  I  help  him  to  make  a  fresh  start?  If  he  had  not  done 
this  one  dishonorable  action,  I  could  have  cared  for  him. 
Can  I  now?" 


CHAPTER   XXX 

"A  fool's  mouth  is  his  destruction." 

THE  superficial  reader  of  these  pages  may  possibly  have  for- 
gotten, but  the  earnest  one  will  undoubtedly  remember  that 
in  an  earlier  chapter  a  sale  of  work  was  mentioned  which  was 
to  take  place  in  the  Wilderleigh  gardens  at  the  end  of  August. 

The  end  of  August  had  now  arrived,  and  with  it  two 
white  tents,  which  sprang  up  suddenly  one  morning,  like 
giant  mushrooms,  on  one  of  Doll's  smooth-shaven  lawns. 
He  groaned  in  spirit  as  he  watched  their  erection.  They 
would  ruin  the  turf. 

"  Might  as  well  iron  it  with  a  hot  iron/'  he  said,  discon- 
solately to  Hugh.  "  But,  of  course,  this  sort  of  thing  — 
Diocesan  Fund,  eh  ?  In  these  days  we  must  stand  by  our 
colors."  He  repeated  Mr.  Gusley's  phrase.  Doll  seldom 
ventured  on  an  opinion  not  sanctioned  by  the  ages,  or 
that  he  had  not  heard  repeated  till  its  novelty  had  been 
comfortably  rubbed  off  by  his  wife  or  the  Gusleys. 

The  two  men  watched  the  proceedings  mournfully. 
They  could  not  help,  at  least  they  were  told  they  could 
not  help  the  women  busily  engaged  in  draping  and  arrang- 
ing the  stalls.  They  were  still  at  large,  but  Doll  knew,  as 
well  as  a  dog  who  is  going  to  be  washed,  what  was  in  store 
for  him  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  was  depressed  beforehand. 

"  Don't  let  yourself  be  run  in,"  he  said,  generously  to 
Hugh.  "  You're  not  up  to  it.  It  takes  a  strong  man  to 
grapple  with  this  sort  of  thing.  Kills  off  the  weakly  ones 
like  flies.  You  lie  low  in  the  smoking-room  till  it's  all  over." 

ee  All  I  can  say  is,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gusley,  as  she  and 
Hester  led  the  Vicarage  donkey  and  cart  up  the  drive, 

200 


RED    POTTAGE 

heavily  laden  with  the  work  of  many  months,  "  that  the 
Pratts  have  behaved  exceedingly  badly.  Here  they  are, 
the  richest  people  by  far  in  the  parish,  and  they  would  not 
even  take  a  stall,  they  would  not  even  furnish  half  of  one, 
and  they  said  they  would  be  away,  and  they  are  at  the 
Towers,  after  all.  No  one  likes  the  Pratts  more  than  I 
do,  or  sees  their  good  points  as  I  do,  but  I  can't  shut  my 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  they  are  the  meanest  of  the  mean." 

The  Pratts  had  only  contributed  two  "  bed-spreads/' 
and  a  "  sheet-sham,"  and  a  set  of  antimacassars.  If  the 
reader  wishes  to  know  what  "  bed-spreads"  and  "sheet- 
shams"  are,  let  him  ask  his  intended,  and  let  him  see  to 
it  that  he  marries  a  woman  who  cannot  tell  him. 

Mrs.  Pratt  had  bought  the  antimacassars  for  the  Tow- 
ers, and  secretly  adored  them  until  Ada  pronounced  them 
to  be  vulgar.  The  number  of  things  which  Ada  discov- 
ered to  be  vulgar  increased  every  day,  and  included  the 
greater  part  of  her  mother's  wardrobe,  much  to  the  dis- 
tress of  that  poor  lady.  Mrs.  Pratt  had  reached  the  size 
when  it  is  prudent  to  concentrate  a  love  of  bright  colors 
in  one's  parasol.  On  this  particular  afternoon  she  shed 
tears  over  the  fact  that  Ada  refused  to  accompany  her  if 
her  mother  wore  a  unique  garment  of  orange  satin,  cov- 
ered with  what  appeared  to  be  a  plague  of  black  worms. 

Of  course,  the  sale  of  work  was  combined  with  a  garden- 
party,  and  a  little  after  three  o'clock  carriage  after  car- 
riage began  to  arrive,  and  Sybell,  with  a  mournful,  hand- 
some, irreproachably  dressed  husband,  took  up  her  position 
on  the  south  front  to  receive  her  guests. 

The  whole  neighborhood  had  been  invited,  and  it  can 
generally  be  gauged  with  tolerable  accuracy  by  a  hostess 
of  some  experience  who  will  respond  to  the  call  and  who 
will  stay  away.  Sybell  and  her  husband  were  among  those 
who  were  not  to  be  found  at  these  festivities,  neither  were 
the  Newhavens,  save  at  their  own,  nor  the  Pontisburys, 
nor  the  Bishop  of  Southminster.  Cards  had,  of  course, 
been  sent  to  each,  but  no  one  expected  them  to  appear. 

Presently,  among  the  stream  of  arrivals,  Sybell  noticed 

201 


RED    POTTAGE 

the  slender  figure  of  Lady  Newhaven,  and — astonishing 
vision — Lord  Newhaven  beside  her. 

"  Wonders  will  never  cease,"  said  Doll,  shaken  for  a  mo- 
ment out  of  the  apathy  of  endurance. 

Sybell  raised  her  eyebrows,  and  advanced  with  the  pret- 
tiest air  of  empressement  to  meet  her  unexpected  guests. 
No,  clearly  it  was  impossible  that  the  two  women  should 
like  each  other.  They  were  the  same  age,  about  the  same 
height  and  coloring;  their  social  position  was  too  similar; 
their  historic  houses  too  near  each  other.  Lady  New- 
haven  was  by  far  the  best  looking,  but  that  was  not  a 
difference  which  attracted  Sybell  towards  her.  On  this 
occasion  SybelFs  face  assumed  its  most  squirrel-like  ex- 
pression, for,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  they  were  dressed 
alike. 

Lady  Newhaven  looked  very  ethereal,  as  she  came  slowly 
across  the  grass  in  her  diaphanous  gown  of  rich  white, 
covered  with  a  flowing  veil  of  thinnest  transparent  black. 
Her  blue  eyes  looked  restlessly  bright ;  her  lips  wore  a 
mechanical  smile.  Kachel,  watching  her,  experienced  a 
sudden  pang  at  her  undeniable  loveliness.  It  wounded 
her  suddenly,  as  it  never  had  done  before.  "  I  am  a 
common-looking,  square-built  woman  compared  to  her," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  No  wonder  he — " 

She  instinctively  drew  back  as  Lady  Newhaven  turned 
quickly  towards  her. 

"  You  dear  person,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  her  eyes 
moving  restlessly  over  the  crowd,  "  are  you  still  here  ? 
Let  us  go  and  buy  something  together.  How  nice  you 
look,"  without  looking  at  her.  She  drew  Eachel  apart  in 
the  direction  of  the  tents. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  she  said,  sharply.  "  I  know  he  is  here. 
I  heard  all  about  the  accident,  though  Edward  never  told 
me.  I  don't  see  him." 

"  He  is  not  in  the  gardens.  He  is  not  coming  out.  He 
is  still  rather  knocked  up." 

"  I  thought  I  should  have  died  when  I  heard  it.  Ah, 
Kachel,  never  love  any  one.  You  don't  know  what  it's 

202 


RED    POTTAGE 

like.  But  I  must  see  him.  I  have  come  here  on  pur- 
pose." 

"  So  I  supposed." 

"Edward  would  come,  too.  He  appeared  at  the  last 
moment  when  the  carriage  came  round,  though  I  have 
never  known  him  to  go  to  a  garden-party  in  his  life. 
But  where  is  he,  Rachel  ?" 

"Somewhere  in  the  house,  I  suppose." 

"  I  shaVt  know  where  to  find  him.  I  can't  be  wander- 
ing about  that  woman's  house  by  myself.  We  must  slip 
away  together,  Rachel,  and  you  must  take  me  to  him.  I 
must  see  him  alone  for  five  minutes." 

Rachel  shook  her  head. 

Captain  Pratt,  tall,  pale,  cautious,  immaculate,  his  cane 
held  along  his  spinal  column,  appeared  suddenly  close  at 
hand. 

"  Mrs.  Lof tus  is  fortunate  in  her  day,"  he  remarked, 
addressing  himself  to  Lady  Newhaven,  and  observing  her 
fixedly  with  cold  admiration.  "I  seldom  come  to  this 
sort  of  thing,  but  neighbors  in  the  country  must  support 
each  other.  I  see  you  are  on  your  way  to  the  tents. 
Pray  allow  me  to  carry  your  purchases  for  you." 

"  Oh  !  don't  let  me  trouble  you,"  said  Lady  Newhaven, 
shrinking  imperceptibly.  But  it  was  no  trouble  to  Cap- 
tain Pratt,  and  they  walked  on  together. 

Lord  Newhaven,  who  could  not  have  been  far  off,  joined 
Rachel. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Pratt  to  Ada,  "you  might 
have  let  me  wear  my  black  and  orange,  after  all,  for  you  see 
Lady  Kewhaven  has  something  very  much  the  same,  only 
hers  is  white  underneath.  And  do  you  see  she  has  got 
two  diamond  butterflies  on— the  little  one  at  her  throat 
and  the  big  one  holding  her  white  carnations.  And  you 
would  not  let  me  put  on  a  single  thing.  There  now,  Algy 
has  joined  her,"  continued  Mrs.  Pratt,  her  attention  quick- 
ly diverted  from  her  own  wrongs.  "Now  they  are  walk- 
ing on  together.  How  nice  he  looks  in  those  beautiful 

203 


RED    POTTAGE 

clothes.  Algy  and  Lord  Newlmven  and  Mr.  Loftns  all 
have  the  same  look,  haven't  they  ?  All  friends  together, 
as  I  often  say,  such  a  mercy  among  county  people.  Yon 
might  walk  a  little  with  Lord  Newhaven,  Ada.  It's  un- 
accountable how  seldom  we  see  him,  but  always  so  pleas- 
ant when  we  do.  Ah  !  he's  speaking  to  Rachel  West. 
They  are  going  to  the  tents,  after  all.  Well,  whatever  you 
may  say,  I  do  think  we  ought  to  go  and  buy  something, 
too.  Papa  says  he  won't  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  if  the 
Loftuses  are  to  get  all  the  credit,  and  we  ought  to  have 
had  the  choice  of  having  the  sale  at  the  Towers,  so  he 
shaVt  do  anything;  but  I  think  it  would  be  nice  if  we 
went  and  bought  a  little  something.  Just  a  five-pound 
note.  You  shall  spend  it,  my  dear,  if  you  like." 

"This  is  sheer  recklessness,"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  as 
Rachel  bought  an  expensive  tea-cosey  ftorn  Fraulein.  et  In 
these  days  of  death-duties  you  cannot  possess  four  teapots, 
and  you  have  already  bought  three  teapot  costumes." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  here  for,"  said  Rachel,  producing 
a  check-book.  "  How  much  did  you  say,  Fraulein  ?" 

"  Twenty-seven  and  seex,"  said  Fraulein. 

"Now  I  see  it  in  the  full  light,  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to 
it  myself,"  said  Lord  Newhaven.  "  I  never  saw  anything 
the  least  like  it.  I  don't  think  I  can  allow  you  to  appro- 
priate it,  Miss  West.  You  are  sweeping  up  all  the  best 
things." 

"  I  have  a  verr'  pretty  thing  for  gentlemen,"  said  Frau- 
lein. "Herr  B-r-r-rown  has  just  bought  one." 

"Very  elaborate,  indeed.  Bible-markers,  I  presume? 
Oh,  braces  !  Never  mind,  they  will  be  equally  useful  to 
me.  I'll  have  them.  Now  for  the  tea-cosey.  It  is  under- 
priced.  I  consider  that,  with  the  chenille  swallow,  it  is 
worth  thirty  shillings.  I  will  give  thirty  for  it." 

"  Thirty-two  and  six,"  said  Rachel. 

"  The  landed  interest  is  not  going  to  be  browbeaten  by 
coal-mines.  Thirty-three  and  twopence." 

"Forty  shillings,"  said  Rachel. 
204 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Forty-two,"  said  Lord  Newhaven. 

Every  one  in  the  tent  had  turned  to  watch  the  bidding. 

"  Forty-two  and  six/'  said  Rachel. 

Fraulein  blushed.  She  had  worked  the  tea-cosey.  It 
was  to  her  a  sonata  in  red  plush. 

"Three  guineas/' said  Captain  Pratt,  by  an  infallible 
instinct,  perceiving,  and  placing  himself  within  the  focus 
of  general  interest. 

The  bidding  ceased  instantly.  Lord  Newhaven  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders  and  turned  away.  Fraulein,  still  shak- 
ing with  conflicting  emotions,  handed  the  tea-cosey  to 
Captain  Pratt.  He  took  it  with  an  acid  smile,  secretly 
disgusted  at  the  sudden  cessation  of  interest,  for  which 
he  had  paid  rather  highly,  and  looked  round  for  Lady 
Newhaven. 

But  she  had  disappeared. 

"Fancy  you  and  Algy  bidding  against  each  other  like 
that/'  said  Ada  Pratt,  archly,  to  Lord  Newhaven,  for 
though  Ada  was  haughty  in  general  society  she  could  be 
sportive,  and  even  friskily  ingratiating,  towards  those  of 
her  fellow-creatures  whom  she  termed  "swells."  "Why, 
half  Middleshire  will  be  saying  that  you  have  quarrelled 
next." 

"Only  those  who  do  not  know  how  intimate  Captain 
Pratt  and  I  really  are  could  think  we  have  quarrelled/' 
said  Lord  Newhaven,  his  eyes  wandering  over  the  crowd. 
"But  I  am  blocking  your  way  and  Mrs.  Pratt's.  How  do 
you  do,  Mrs.  Pratt  ?  Miss  West,  your  burden  is  greater 
than  you  can  bear.  You  are  dropping  part  of  it.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  but  I  can  shut  my  eyes  as  I  pick  it  up. 
I  insist  on  carrying  half  back  to  the  house.  It  will  give 
a  pleasing  impression  that  I  have  bought  largely.  Weren't 
you  pleased  at  the  money  we  wrung  out  of  Captain  Pratt  ? 
He  never  thought  we  should  stop  bidding.  It's  about  all 
the  family  will  contribute,  unless  that  good  old  Mamma 
Pratt  buys  something.  She  is  the  only  one  of  the  family 
I  can  tolerate.  Is  Scarlett  still  here  ?  I  ought  to  have 
asked  after  him  before." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  He's  here,  but  he's  not  well.  He's  in  hiding  in  the 
smoking-room." 

"He  is  lucky  he  is  no  worse.  I  should  have  had  rheu- 
matic fever  if  I  had  been  in  his  place.  How  cool  it  is  in 
here  after  the  glare  outside.  Must  you  go  out  again  ? 
Well,  I  consider  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  that  I  may 
fairly  allow  myself  a  cigarette  in  peace." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Loftus,  I'm  quite  shocked.  This  absurd 
faintness  !  The  tent  was  very  crowded,  and  there  is  not 
much  air  to-day,  is  there  ?  I  shall  be  all  right  if  I  may  sit 
quietly  in  the  hall  a  little.  How  deliciously  cool  in  here 
after  the  glare  outside.  A  glass  of  water  ?  Thanks. 
Yes,  only  I  hate  to  be  so  troublesome.  And  how  are  you 
after  that  dreadful  accident  in  the  boat  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  am  all  right/'  said  Doll,  who  by  this  time  hated 
the  subject.  "  It  was  Scarlett  who  was  nearly  frozen  like 
New  Zealand  lamb." 

Doll  had  heard  Mr.  Gusley  fire  off  the  simile  of  the 
lamb,  and  considered  it  sound. 

"  How  absurd  you  are.  You  always  make  me  laugh.  I 
suppose  he  has  left  now  that  he  is  unfrozen." 

"  Oh  no.  He  is  still  here.  We  would  not  let  him  go 
till  he  was  better.  He  is  not  up  to  much.  Weak  chap  at 
the  best  of  times,  I  should  think.  He's  lying  low  in  the 
smoking-room  till  the  people  are  gone." 

"  Mr.  Scarlett  is  an  old  friend  of  ours,"  said  Lady  New- 
haven,  sipping  her  glass  of  water,  and  spilling  a  little  ; 
"  but  I  can't  quite  forgive  him — no,  I  really  can't — for  the 
danger  he  caused  to  Edward.  You  know,  or  perhaps  you 
don't  know,  that  Edward  can't  swim,  either.  Even  now 
I  can't  bear  to  think  what  might  have  happened." 

She  closed  her  eyes  with  evident  emotion. 

Doll's  stolid  garden-party  face  relaxed.  ( '  Good  little 
woman,"  he  thought.  "As  fond  of  him  as  she  can  be." 

"  All's  well  that  ends  well,"  he  remarked,  aloud. 

Doll  did  not  know  that  he  was  quoting  Shakespeare,  but 
he  did  know  by  long  experience  that  this  sentence  could 

206 


RED    POTTAGE 

be  relied  on  as  suitable  to  the  occasion,  or  to  any  occasion 
that  looked  a  little  "  doddery,"  and  finished  up  all  right. 
"And  now,  Mr.  Loftus,  positively  I  must  insist  on  your 
leaving  me  quietly  here.  I  am  quite  sure  you  are  wanted 
outside,  and  I  should  blame  myself  if  you  wasted  another 
minute  on  me.  It  was  only  the  sun  which  affected  me. 
Don't  mention  it  to  Edward.  He  is  always  so  fussy  about 
me.  I  will  rest  quietly  here  for  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
then  rejoin  you  all  again  in  the  garden." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  disturbing  any  one/7  said  Lord  New- 
haven,  quietly  entering  the  smoking-room.  "  Well,  Scar- 
lett, how  are  you  getting  on  ?" 

Hugh,  who  was  lying  on  a  sofa  with  his  arms  raised  and 
his  hands  behind  his  head,  looked  up,  and  his  expression 
changed. 

"  He  was  thinking  of  something  uncommonly  pleasant," 
thought  Lord  Newhaven,  "not  of  me  or  mine,  I  fancy.  I 
have  come  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  peace,"  he  added  aloud, 
"  if  you  don't  object." 

"Of  course  not." 

Lord  Newhaven  lit  his  cigarette  and  puffed  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"  Hot  outside,"  he  said. 

Hugh  nodded.  He  wondered  how  soon  he  could  make 
a  pretext  for  getting  up  and  leaving  the  room. 

There  was  a  faint  silken  rustle,  and  Lady  Newhaven, 
pale,  breathless,  came  swiftly  in  and  closed  the  door. 
The  instant  afterwards  she  saw  her  husband,  and  shrank 
back  with  a  little  cry.  Lord  Newhaven  did  not  look  at 
her.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Hugh. 

Hugh's  face  became  suddenly  ugly,  livid.  He  rose 
slowly  to  his  feet,  and  stood  motionless. 

"  He  hates  her,"  said  Lord  Newhaven  to  himself.  And 
he  removed  his  glance  and  came  forward. 

"  You  were  looking  for  me,  Violet  ?"  he  remarked. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  wishing  to  return  home.  We 
will  go  at  once."  He  threw  away  his  cigarette.  "  Well, 

207 


RED    POTTAGE 

good-bye,  Scarlett,  in  case  we  don't  meet  again.  I  dare 
say  you  will  pay  Westhope  a  visit  later  on.  Ah,  Captain 
Pratt !  so  you  have  fled,  like  us,  from  the  madding  crowd. 
I  can  recommend  Loftus's  cigarettes.  I  have  just  had  one 
myself.  Good-bye.  Did  you  leave  your  purchases  in  the 
hall,  Violet  ?  Yes  ?  Then  we  will  collect  them  on  our  way. " 

The  husband  and  wife  were  half-way  down  the  grand 
staircase  before  Lord  Newhaven  said,  in  his  usual  even 
voice  : 

"  I  must  ask  you  once  more  to  remember  that  I  will  not 
have  any  scandal  attaching  to  your  name.  Did  not  you 
see  that  that  white  mongrel  Pratt  was  on  your  track  ?  If  I 
had  not  been  there  when  he  came  in  he  would  have  drawn 
his  own  vile  conclusions,  and  for  once  they  would  have 
been  correct." 

"  He  could  not  think  worse  of  me  than  you  do/'  said 
the  wife,  half  cowed,  half  defiant. 

"  No,  but  he  could  say  so,  which  I  don't ;  or,  what  is 
more  probable,  he  could  use  his  knowledge  to  obtain  a 
hold  over  you.  He  is  a  dangerous  man.  Don't  put  your- 
self in  his  power." 

"  I  don't  want  to,  or  in  anybody's." 

"Then  avoid  scandal  instead  of  courting  it,  and  don't 
repeat  the  folly  of  this  afternoon." 

Captain  Pratt  did  not  remain  long  in  the  smoking-room. 
He  had  only  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Hugh,  which  did 
not  appear  capable  of  extension.  Captain  Pratt  made  a 
few  efforts,  proved  its  inelastic  properties,  and  presently 
lounged  out  again. 

Hugh  moved  slowly  to  the  window,  and  leaned  his 
throbbing  forehead  against  the  stone  mullion.  He  was 
still  weak,  and  the  encounter  with  Lady  Newhaven  had 
shaken  him. 

"  What  did  he  mean  ?"  he  said  to  himself,  bewildered 
and  suspicious.  "  'Perhaps  I  should  be  staying  at  West- 
hope  later  on  !'  But,  of  course,  I  shall  never  go  there 
again.  He  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do.  What  did  he  mean  ?" 

208 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

The  Bird  of  Time  has  but  a  little  way 
To  flutter — and  the  Bird  is  on  the  wing. 

—OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

IT  was  the  third  week  of  November.  Winter,  the  de- 
stroyer, was  late,  but  he  had  come  at  last.  There  was 
death  in  the  air,  a  whisper  of  death  stole  across  the  empty 
fields  and  bare  hill-side.  The  birds  heard  it  and  were 
silent.  The  November  wind  was  hurrying  round  West- 
hope  Abbey,  shaking  its  bare  trees. 

Lord  Newhaven  stood  looking  fixedly  out  eastward 
across  the  level  land  to  the  low  hills  beyond.  He  stood 
so  long  that  the  day  died,  and  twilight  began  to  rub  out 
first  the  hills  and  then  the  long,  white  line  of  flooded 
meadow  and  blurred  pollard  willows.  Presently  the  river 
mist  rose  up  to  meet  the  coming  darkness.  In  the  east, 
low  and  lurid,  a  tawny  moon  crept  up  the  livid  sky.  She 
made  no  moonlight  on  the  gray  earth. 

Lord  Newhaven  moved  away  from  the  window,  where 
he  had  become  a  shadow  among  the  shadows,  and  sat 
down  in  the  dark  at  his  writing-table. 

Presently  he  turned  on  the  electric  lamp  at  his  elbow 
and  took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket.  The  circle  of  shaded 
light  fell  on  his  face  as  he  read — the  thin,  grave  face,  with 
the  steady,  inscrutable  eyes. 

He  read  the  letter  slowly,  evidently  not  for  the  first 
time. 

"  If  I  had  not  been  taken  by  surprise  at  the  moment  I 
should  not  have  consented  to  the  manner  in  which  our 
differences  were  settled.  Personally,  I  consider  the  old 
o  209 


RED    POTTAGE 

arrangement,  to  which  yon  regretfully  alluded  at  the  time" 
— ("pistols  for  two  and  coffee  for  four,"  I  remember  per- 
fectly)— "as  preferable,  and  as  you  appeared  to  think  so 
yourself,  would  it  not  be  advisable  to  resort  to  it  ?  Be- 
lieving that  the  old  arrangement  will  meet  your  wishes  as 
fully  as  it  does  mine,  I  trust  that  you  will  entertain  this 
suggestion,  and  that  you  will  agree  to  a  meeting  with  your 
own  choice  of  weapons,  on  any  pretext  you  may  choose  to 
name  within  the  next  week." 

The  letter  ended  there.     It  was  unsigned. 

"  The  time  is  certainly  becoming  short,"  said  Lord 
Newhaven.  "  He  is  right  in  saying  there  is  only  a  week 
left.  If  it  were  not  for  the  scandal  for  the  boys,  and  if  I 
thought  he  would  really  hold  to  the  compact,  I  would 
meet  him,  but  he  won't.  He  flinched  when  he  drew  lots. 
He  won't.  He  has  courage  enough  to  stand  up  in  front 
of  me  for  two  minutes,  and  take  his  chance,  but  not  to 
blow  his  own  brains  out.  No.  And  if  he  knew  what  is 
in  store  for  him  if  he  does  not,  he  would  not  have  courage 
to  face  that  either.  Nor  should  I  if  I  were  in  his  shoes, 
poor  devil.  The  first  six  foot  of  earth  would  be  good 
enough  for  me." 

He  threw  the  letter  with  its  envelope  into  the  fire  and 
watched  it  burn. 

Then  he  took  up  the  gold  pen,  which  his  wife  had  given 
him,  examined  the  nib,  dipped  it  very  slowly  in  the  ink, 
and  wrote  with  sudden  swiftness. 

"Allow  me  to  remind  you  that  you  made  no  objection 
at  the  time  to  the  manner  of  our  encounter  and  my  choice 
of  weapons,  by  means  of  which  publicity  was  avoided. 
The  risk  was  equal.  You  now,  at  the  last  moment,  pro- 
pose that  I  should  run  it  a  second  time,  and  in  a  manner 
to  cause  instant  scandal.  I  must  decline  to  do  so,  or  to 
reopen  the  subject,  which  had  received  my  careful  con- 
sideration before  I  decided  upon  it.  I  have  burned  your 
letter,  and  desire  you  will  burn  mine." 

"  Poor  devil  I"  said  Lord  Newhaven,  putting  the  let- 
ter, not  in  the  post-box  at  his  elbow,  but  in  his  pocket. 

210 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Loftus  and  I  did  him  an  ill  turn  when  we  pulled  him 
out  of  the  water." 

The  letter  took  its  own  time,  for  it  had  to  avoid  possi- 
ble pitfalls.  It  shunned  the  company  of  the  other  West- 
hope  letters,  it  avoided  the  village  post-office,  but  after  a 
day's  delay  it  was  launched,  and  lay  among  a  hundred 
others  in  a  station  pillar-box.  And  then  it  hurried,  hur- 
ried as  fast  as  express  train  could  take  it,  till  it  reached 
its  London  address,  and  went  softly  up-stairs,  and  laid 
itself,  with  a  few  others,  on  Hugh's  breakfast-table. 

For  many  weeks  since  his  visit  at  Wilderleigh  Hugh 
had  been  like  a  man  in  a  boat  without- oars,  drifting  slow- 
ly, imperceptibly  on  the  placid  current  of  a  mighty  river, 
who  far  away  hears  the  fall  of  Niagara  droning  like  a 
bumblebee  in  a  lily  cup. 

Lon^  ago,  in  the  summer,  he  had  recognized  the  sound, 
had  realized  the  steep  agony  towards  which  the  current 
was  bearing  him,  and  had  struggled  horribly,  impotently, 
against  the  inevitable.  But  of  late,  though  the  sound 
was  ever  in  his  ears,  welling  up  out  of  the  blue  distance, 
he  had  given  up  the  useless  struggle,  and  lay  still  in  the 
sunshine  watching  the  summer  woods  slide  past  and  the 
clouds  sail  away,  always  away  and  away,  to  the  birthplace 
of  the  river,  to  that  little  fluttering  pulse  in  the  heart  of 
the  hills  which  a  woman's  hand  might  cover,  the  infant 
pulse  of  the  great  river  to  be. 

Hugh's  thoughts  went  back,  like  the  clouds,  towards 
that  tiny  spring  of  passion  in  his  own  life.  He  felt  that 
he  could  have  forgiven  it — and  himself — if  he  had  been 
swept  into  the  vortex  of  a  headlong  mountain  torrent 
leaping  down  its  own  wild  water-way,  carrying  all  before 
it.  Other  men  he  had  seen  who  had  been  wrested  off 
their  feet,  swept  out  of  their  own  keeping  by  such  a  tor- 
rent on  the  steep  hill-side  of  their  youth.  But  it  had 
not  been  so  with  him.  He  had  walked  more  cautiously 
than  they.  As  he  walked  he  had  stopped  to  look  at  the 
little  thread  of  water  which  came  bubbling  up  out  of  its 

211 


RED    POTTAGE 

white  pebbles.  It  was  so  pretty,  it  was  so  feeble,  it  was 
so  clear.  Involuntarily  he  followed  it,  watched  it  grow, 
amused  himself,  half  contemptuously,  with  it,  helped  its 
course  by  turning  obstacles  from  its  path.  It  never 
rushed.  It  never  leaped.  It  was  a  toy.  The  day  came 
when  it  spread  itself  safe  and  shallow  on  level  land,  and 
he  embarked  upon  it.  But  he  was  quickly  tired  of  it. 
It  was  beginning  to  run  muddily  through  a  commonplace 
country,  past  squalid  polluting  towns  and  villages.  The 
hills  were  long  since  gone.  He  turned  to  row  to  the 
shore.  And,  behold,  his  oars  were  gone  !  He  had  been 
trapped  to  his  destruction. 

Hugh  had  never  regarded  seriously  his  intrigue  with 
Lady  Newhaven.  He  had  been  attracted,  excited,  par- 
tially, half-willingly  enslaved.  He  had  thought  at  the 
time  that  he  loved  her,  and  that  supposition  had  con- 
firmed him  in  his  cheap  cynicism  about  woman.  This, 
then,  was  her  paltry  little  court,  where  man  offered  mock 
homage,  and  where  she  played  at  being  queen.  Hugh  had 
made  the  discovery  that  love  was  a  much  overrated  pas- 
sion. He  had  always  supposed  so;  but  when  he  tired  of 
Lady  Newhaven  he  was  sure  of  it.  His  experience  was, 
after  all,  only  the  same  as  that  which  many  men  acquire 
by  marriage,  and  hold  unshaken  through  long  and  useful 
lives.  But  Hugh  had  not  been  able  to  keep  the  treasures 
of  this  early  experience.  It  had  been  rendered  worthless, 
perhaps  rather  contemptible  by  a  later  one — that  of  falling 
in  love  with  Rachel,  and  the  astonishing  discovery  that  he 
was  in  love  for  the  first  time.  He  had  sold  his  birthright 
for  a  mess  of  red  pottage,  as  surely  as  any  man  or  woman 
who  marries  for  money  or  liking.  He  had  not  believed  in 
his  birthright,  and  holding  it  to  be  worthless,  had  given 
it  to  the  first  person  who  had  offered  him  anything  in  ex- 
change. 

His  whole  soul  had  gradually  hardened  itself  against 
Lady  Newhaven.  If  he  had  loved  her,  he  said  to  him- 
self, he  could  have  borne  his  fate.  But  the  play  had  not 
been  worth  the  candle.  His  position  was  damnable ;  but 

212 


RED    POTTAGE 

that  he  could  have  borne  —  at  least,  so  he  thought  if  he 
had  had  his  day.  But  he  had  not  had  it.  That  thought 
rankled.  To  be  hounded  out  of  life  because  he  had  mis- 
taken paper  money  for  real  was  not  only  unfair,  it  was 
grotesque. 

Gradually,  however,  Hugh  forgot  his  smouldering  hate 
of  Lady  Newhaven,  his  sense  of  injustice  and  anger 
against  fate  ;  he  forgot  everything  in  his  love  for  Rachel. 
It  became  the  only  reality  of  his  life. 

He  had  remained  in  London  throughout  October  and 
November,  cancelling  all  his  engagements  because  she  was 
there.  What  her  work  was  he  vaguely  apprehended : 
that  she  was  spending  herself  and  part  of  her  colossal 
fortune  in  the  East  End,  but  he  took  no  interest  in  it. 
He  was  incapable  of  taking  more  interests  into  his  life  at 
this  time.  He  passed  many  quiet  evenings  with  her  in 
the  house  in  Park  Lane,  which  she  had  lately  bought. 
The  little  secretary  who  lived  with  her  had  always  a  faint 
smile  and  more  writing  to  do  than  usual  on  the  evenings 
when  he  dined  with  them. 

A  great  peace  was  over  all  their  intercourse.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  hush  before  the  storm,  the  shadow  of  which 
was  falling,  falling,  with  each  succeeding  day  across  the 
minds  of  both.  Once  only  a  sudden  gust  of  emotion 
stirred  the  quiet  air,  but  it  dropped  again  immediately. 
It  came  with  the  hour  when  Hugh  confessed  to  her  the 
blot  upon  his  past.  The  past  was  taking  upon  itself  even 
an  uglier  and  more  repulsive  aspect  as  he  saw  more  of 
Rachel.  It  was  hard  to  put  into  words,  but  he  spoke  of 
it.  The  spectre  of  love  rose  like  a  ghost  between  them, 
as  they  looked  earnestly  at  each  other,  each  pale  even 
in  the  ruddy  fire-light. 

Hugh  was  truthful  in  intention.  He  was  determined 
he  would  never  lie  to  Rachel.  He  implied  an  intrigue 
with  a  married  woman,  a  deviation  not  only  from  morality, 
but  from  honor.  More  he  did  not  say.  But  as  he  looked 
at  her  strained  face  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  expected 
something  more.  A  dreadful  silence  fell  between  them 

213 


RED    POTTAGE 

when  he  had  finished.  Had  she  then  no  word  for  him. 
Her  eyes — mute,  imploring,  dark  with  an  agony  of  sus- 
pense— met  his  for  a  second  and  fell  instantly.  She  did 
not  speak.  Her  silence  filled  him  with  despair.  He  got 
up.  "  It's  getting  late.  I  must  go,"  he  stammered. 

She  rose,  mechanically,  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"May  I  come  again  ?"  he  said,  holding  it  more  tightly 
than  he  knew,  and  looking  intently  at  her.  Was  he  going 
to  he  dismissed  ? 

The  pain  he  caused  her  hand  recalled  her  to  herself.  A 
look  of  bewilderment  crossed  her  face,  and  then  she  real- 
ized his  suspense  and  said,  gravely,  "You  may  come  again." 

He  kissed  the  hand  he  held,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  knew 
for  the  first  time  that  she  loved  him.  But  he  could  not 
speak  of  love  after  what  he  had  just  told  her.  He  looked 
back  when  he  reached  the  door,  and  saw  her  standing 
where  he  had  left  her.  She  had  raised  the  hand  he  had 
kissed  to  her  lips. 

That  was  three  days  ago.  Since  then  he  had  not  dared  to 
go  and  see  her.  He  could  not  ask  her  to  marry  him  when 
he  was  within  a  few  days  of  the  time  when  he  was  bound 
in  so-called  honor  to  give  Lord  Newhaven  satisfaction. 
He  certainly  could  not  be  in  her  presence  again  without 
asking  her.  The  shadows  of  the  last  weeks  had  suddenly 
become  ghastly  realities  once  more.  The  roar  of  Niagara 
drowned  all  other  sounds.  What  was  he  going  to  do  ? 
What  was  he  going  to  do  in  the  predicament  towards 
which  he  had  been  drifting  so  long,  which  was  now  actu- 
ally upon  him  ?  Who  shall  say  what  horror,  what  agony 
of  mind,  what  frenzied  searching  for  a  way  of  escape,  what 
anguish  of  baffled  love  crowded  in  on  Hugh's  mind  dur- 
ing those  last  days  ?  At  the  last  moment  he  caught  at  a 
straw,  and  wrote  to  Lord  Newhaven  offering  to  fight  him. 
He  did  not  ask  himself  what  he  should  do  if  Lord  New- 
haven  refused.  But  when  Lord  Newhaven  did  refuse  his 
determination,  long  unconsciously  fostered,  sprang  full- 
grown  into  existence  in  a  sudden  access  of  passionate 
anger  and  blind  rage. 

214 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  He  won't  fight,  won't  he  !  He  thinks  I  will  die  like 
a  rat  in  a  trap  with  all  my  life  before  me.  I  will  not.  I 
offered  him  a  fair  chance  of  revenging  himself — I  would 
have  fired  into  the  air — and  if  he  won't  take  it  it  is  his 
own  look-out,  damn  him  !  He  can  shoot  me  at  sight  if 
he  likes.  Let  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

On  ne  peut  jamais  dire. 
"Fontaine  je  ne  boirai  jamais  de  ton  eau." 

IF  we  could  choose  onr  ills  we  should  not  choose  sus- 
pense. Rachel  aged  perceptibly  during  these  last  weeks. 
Her  strong  white  hands  became  thinner;  her  lustreless 
eyes  and  haggard  face  betrayed  her.  In  years  gone  by 
she  had  said  to  herself,  when  a  human  love  had  failed  her, 
"I  will  never  put  myself  through  this  torture  a  second 
time.  Whatever  happens  I  will  not  endure  it  again." 

And  now  she  was  enduring  it  again,  though  in  a  differ- 
ent form.  There  is  an  element  of  mother-love  in  the  de- 
votion which  some  women  give  to  men.  In  the  first  in- 
stance it  had  opened  the  door  of  Ra.cheFs  heart  to  Hugh, 
and  had  gradually  merged,  with  other  feelings,  and  deep- 
ened into  the  painful  love  of  a  woman  not  in  her  first 
youth  for  a  man  of  whom  she  is  not  sure. 

Rachel  was  not  sure  of  Hugh.  Of  his  love  for  her  she 
was  sure,  but  not  of  the  man  himself,  the  gentle,  refined, 
lovable  nature  that  mutely  worshipped  and  clung  to  her. 
She  could  not  repulse  him  any  more  than  she  could  re- 
pulse a  child.  But  through  all  her  knowledge  of  him — the 
knowledge  of  love,  the  only  true  knowledge  of  our  fellow- 
creatures — a  thread  of  doubtful  anxiety  was  interwoven. 
She  could  form  some  idea  how  men  like  Dick,  Lord  New- 
haven,  or  the  Bishop  wo  aid  act  in  given  circumstances, 
but  she  could  form  no  definite  idea  how  Hugh  would  act 
in  the  same  circumstances.  Yet  she  knew  Hugh  a  thou- 
sand times  better  than  any  of  the  others.  Why  was  this  ? 
Many  women  before  Rachel  have  sought  diligently  to  find, 

216 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  have  shut  their  eyes  diligently,  lest  they  should  dis- 
cover what  it  is  that  is  dark  to  them  in  the  character  of 
the  man  they  love. 

Perhaps  Rachel  half  knew  all  the  time  the  subtle  in- 
equality in  Hugh's  character.  Perhaps  she  loved  him  all 
the  better  for  it.  Perhaps  she  knew  that  if  he  had  been 
without  a  certain  undefinable  weakness  he  would  not  have 
been  drawn  towards  her  strength.  She  was  stronger  than 
he,  and  perhaps  she  loved  him  more  than  she  could  have 
loved  an  equal. 

"Les  esprits  faibles  ne  sont  jamais  sinceres"  She  had 
come  across  that  sentence  one  day  in  a  book  she  was  read- 
ing, and  had  turned  suddenly  blind  and  cold  with  anger. 
"  He  is  sincere,"  she  said,  fiercely,  as  if  repelling  an  accusa- 
tion. "  He  would  never  deceive  me."  But  no  one  ac- 
cused Hugh. 

The  same  evening  he  made  the  confession  for  which  she 
had  waited  so  long.  As  he  began  to  speak  an  intolerable 
suspense,  like  a  new  and  acute  form  of  a  familiar  disease, 
lay  hold  on  her.  Was  he  going  to  live  or  die.  She  should 
know  at  j^st.  Was  she  to  part  with  him,  to  bury  love  for 
the  second  time  ?  Or  was  she  to  keep  him,  to  be  his  wife, 
the  mother  of  his  children  ? 

As  he  went  on,  his  language  becoming  more  confused  ; 
she  hardly  listened  to  him.  She  had  known  all  that  too 
long.  She  had  forgiven  it,  not  without  tears  ;  but  still, 
she  had  forgiven  it  long  ago.  Then  he  stopped.  It 
seemed  to  Rachel  as  if  she  had  reached  a  moment  in  life 
which  she  could  not  bear.  She  waited,  but  still  he  did 
not  speak.  Thus  she  was  not  to  know.  She  was  to  be 
ground  between  the  millstones  of  four  more  dreadful  days 
and  nights.  She  suddenly  became  aware,  as  she  stared  at 
Hugh's  blanching  face,  that  he  believed  she  was  about  to 
dismiss  him.  The  thought  had  never  entered  her  mind. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  love  you  ?"  she  said,  silently, 
to  him,  as  he  kissed  her  hand. 

When  he  had  left  her  a  gleam  of  comfort  came  to  her, 
the  only  gleam  that  lightened  the  days  and  nights  that 

217 


RED    POTTAGE 

followed.  It  was  not  his  fault  if  he  had  made  a  half-oon- 
fession.  If  he  had  gone  on,  and  had  told  her  of  the  draw- 
ing of  lots,  and  which  had  drawn  the  fatal  lot,  he  would 
have  been  wanting  in  sense  of  honor.  He  owed  it  to  the 
man  he  had  injured  to  preserve  entire  secrecy. 

"  He  told  me  of  the  sin  which  might  affect  my  marry- 
ing him,"  said  Eachel,  "  but  the  rest  had  nothing  to  do 
with  me.  He  was  right  not  to  speak  of  it.  If  he  had  told 
me,  and  then  a  few  days  afterwards  Lord  Newhaven  had 
committed  suicide,  he  would  know  I  should  put  two  and 
two  together,  and  who  the  woman  was,  and  the  secret 
would  not  have  died  with  Lord  Newhaven  as  it  ought  to 
do.  But  if  Hugh  were  the  man  who  had  to  kill  himself, 
he  might  have  told  me  so  without  a  breach  of  confidence, 
because  then  I  should  never  have  guessed  who  the  others 
were.  If  he  were  the  man  he  could  have  told  me,  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  told  me,  for  it  could  have  done  no  harm 
to  any  one.  Surely  Lady  Newhaven  must  be  right  when 
she  was  so  certain  that  her  husband  had  drawn  the  short 
lighter.  And  she  herself  had  gained  the  same  impression 
from  what  Hugh  had  vaguely  said  at  Wilderleigh.  But 
what  are  impressions,  suppositions,  except  the  food  of  sus- 
pense. "  Eachel  sighed,  and  took  up  her  burden  as  best  she 
could.  Hugh's  confession  had  at  least  one  source  of  com- 
fort in  it,  deadly  cold  comfort  if  he  were  about  to  leave  her. 
She  knew  that  night  as  she  lay  awake  that  she  had  not 
quite  trusted  him  up  till  now,  by  the  sense  of  entire  trust 
and  faith  in  him  which  rose  up  to  meet  his  self-accusation. 
What  might  have  turned  away  Rachel's  heart  from  him 
had  had  the  opposite  effect.  "  He  told  me  the  worst  of 
himself,  though  he  risked  losing  me  by  doing  it.  He 
wished  me  to  know  before  he  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
Though  he  acted  dishonorably  once  he  is  an  honorable 
man.  He  has  shown  himself  upright  in  his  dealing  with 
me." 

Hugh  came  back  no  more  after  that  evening.  Rachel 
told  herself  she  knew  why — she  understood.  He  could 
not  speak  of  love  and  marriage  when  the  man  he  had  in- 

218 


RED    POTTAGE 

jured  was  on  the  brink  of  death.  Her  heart  stood  still 
when  she  thought  of  Lord  Newhaven,  the  gentle,  kindly 
man  who  was  almost  her  friend,  and  who  was  playing  with 
such  quiet  dignity  a  losing  game.  Hugh  had  taken  from 
him  his  wife,  and  by  that  act  was  now  taking  from  him 
his  life  too. 

"  It  was  an  even  chance,"  she  groaned.  "  Hugh  is  not 
responsible  for  his  death.  Oh,  my  God  !  At  least  he  is 
not  responsible  for  that.  It  might  have  been  he  who  had 
to  die  instead  of  Lord  Newhaven.  But  if  it  is  he,  surely 
he  could  not  leave  me  without  a  word.  If  it  is  he,  he 
would  have  come  to  bid  me  good-bye.  He  cannot  go  down 
into  silence  without  a  word.  If  it  is  he,  he  will  come  yet." 

She  endured  through  the  two  remaining  days,  turning 
faint  with  terror  each  time  the  door-bell  rang,  lest  it  might 
be  Hugh. 

But  Hugh  did  not  come. 

Then,  after  repeated  frantic  telegrams  from  Lady  New- 
haven,  she  left  London  precipitately  to  go  to  her,  as  she 
had  promised,  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  November,  the 
evening  of  the  last  day  of  the  five  months. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
"And  he  went  out  immediately,  and  it  was  night." 

IT  was  nearly  dark  when  Rachel  reached  Westhope 
Abbey.  A  great  peace  seemed  to  pervade  the  long,  dim 
lines  of  the  gardens,  and  to  be  gathered  into  the  solemn 
arches  of  the  ruins  against  the  darkening  sky.  Through 
the  low  door-way  a  faint  light  of  welcome  peered.  As  she 
drove  up  she  was  aware  of  two  tall  figures  pacing  amicably 
together  in  the  dusk.  As  she  passed  them  she  heard  Lord 
Newhaven's  low  laugh  at  something  his  companion  said. 

A  sense  of  unreality  seized  her.  It  was  not  the  world 
which  was  out  of  joint,  which,  was  rushing  to  its  destruc- 
tion. It  must  be  she  who  was  mad — stark  mad — to  have 
believed  these  chimeras. 

As  she  got  out  of  the  carriage  a  step  came  lightly  along 
the  gravel,  and  Lord  Newhaven  emerged  into  the  little 
ring  of  light  by  the  archway. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  said,  cordially,  with 
extended  hand.  "  My  poor  wife  is  very  unwell,  and  ex- 
pecting you  anxiously.  She  told  me  she  had  sent  for 
you." 

All  was  unreal — the  familiar  rooms  and  passages,  the 
flickering  light  of  the  wood  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  the 
darkened  room,  into  which  Rachel  stole  softly  and  knelt 
down  beside  a  trembling  white  figure,  which  held  her  with 
a  drowning  clutch. 

"I  will  be  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,"  Lady 
Newhaven  whispered,  hoarsely.  "  I  won't  dine  down.  I 
can't  bear  to  see  him." 

It  was  all  unreal  except  the  jealousy  of  this  clinging 

220 


RED    POTTAGE 

figure,  which  suddenly  took  Rachel  by  the  throat  and 
nearly  choked  her. 

"I  have  undertaken  what  is  beyond  my  strength,"  she 
said  to  herself,  as  she  hastily  dressed  for  dinner.  "How 
shall  I  bear  it  when  she  speaks  of  him  ?  How  shall  I  go 
through  with  it  ?" 

Presently  she  was  dining  with  Lord  Newhaven.  He 
mentioned  that  it  was  Dick  Vernon  with  whom  he  had 
been  walking  when  she  arrived.  Dick  was  staying  in 
Southminster  for  business,  combined  with  hunting,  and 
had  ridden  over.  Lord  Newhaven  looked  furtively  at 
Rachel  as  he  mentioned  Dick.  Her  indifference  was  evi- 
dently genuine. 

"  She  has  not  grown  thin  and  parted  with  what  little 
looks  she  possessed  on  Dick's  account,"  he  said  to  himself; 
and  the  remembrance  slipped  across  his  mind  of  Hugh's 
first  word  when  he  recovered  consciousness  after  drown- 
ing— "  Rachel." 

"I  would  have  asked  Dick  to  dine,"  continued  Lord 
ISTewhaven,  when  the  servants  had  gone,  "  but  I  thought 
two  was  company  and  three  none,  and  that  it  was  not  fair 
on  you  and  Violet  to  have  him  on  your  hands,  as  I  am 
obliged  to  go  to  London  on  business  by  the  night  ex- 
press." 

He  was  amazed  at  the  instantaneous  effect  of  his  words. 

RacheFs  face  became  suddenly  livid,  and  she  sank  back 
in  her  chair.  He  saw  that  it  was  only  by  a  supreme  effort 
that  she  prevented  herself  from  fainting.  The  truth 
flashed  into  his  mind. 

"  She  knows,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  That  imbecile, 
that  brainless  viper  to  whom  I  am  tied,  has  actually  con- 
fided in  her.  And  she  and  Scarlett  are  in  love  with  each 
other,  and  the  suspense  is  wearing  her  out." 

He  looked  studiously  away  from  her,  and  continued  a 
desultory  conversation ;  but  his  face  darkened. 

The  little  boys  came  in,  and  pressed  themselves  one  on 
each  side  of  their  father,  their  eyes  glued  on  the  crystal- 
lized cherries.  Rachel  had  recovered  herself,  and  she 

221 


RED    POTTAGE 

watched  the  children  and  their  father  with  a  pain  at  her 
heart,  which  was  worse  than  the  faintness. 

She  had  heen  unable  to  believe  that  if  Lord  Newhaven 
had  drawn  the  short  lighter  he  would  remain  quietly  here 
over  the  dreadful  morrow,  under  the  same  roof  as  Teddy 
and  Pauly.  Oh,  surely  nothing  horrible  could  happen  so 
near  them!  Yet  he  seemed  to  have  no  intention  of  leav- 
ing Westhope.  Then,  perhaps,  he  had  not  drawn  the  short 
lighter,  after  all.  At  the  moment  when  suspense,  mo- 
mentarily lulled,  was  once  more  rising  hideous,  colossal, 
he  casually  mentioned  that  he  was  leaving  by  the  night 
train.  The  reason  was  obvious.  The  shock  of  relief  al- 
most stunned  her. 

"  He  will  do  it  quietly  to-morrow  away  from  home/'  she 
said  to  herself,  watching  him  with  miserable  eyes,  as  he 
divided  the  cherries  equally  between  the  boys.  She  had 
dreaded  going  up-stairs  to  Lady  Newhaven,  but  anything 
was  better  than  remaining  in  the  dining-room.  She  rose 
hurriedly,  and  the  boys  raced  to  the  door  and  struggled 
which  should  open  it  for  her. 

Lady  Newhaven  was  lying  on  a  sofa  by  the  wood  fire  in 
the  drawing-room. 

Rachel  went  straight  up  to  her,  and  said,  hoarsely: 

"Lord  Newhaven  tells  me  he  is  going  to  London  this 
evening  by  the  night  express." 

Lady  Newhaven  threw  up  her  arms. 

' '  Then  it  is  he,"  she  said.  tf  When  he  stayed  on  and  on 
up  to  to-day  I  began  to  be  afraid  that  it  was  not  he,  after 
all;  and  yet  little  things  made  me  feel  sure  it  was,  and 
that  he  was  only  waiting  to  do  it  before  me  and  the  chil- 
dren. I  have  been  so  horribly  frightened.  Oh,  if  he  might 
only  go  away,  and  that  I  might  never,  never  look  upon 
his  face  again!" 

Rachel  sat  down  by  the  latticed  window  and  looked  out 
into  the  darkness.  She  could  not  bear  to  look  at  Lady 
Newhaven.  Was  there  any  help  anywhere  from  this  horror 
of  death  without,  from  this  demon  of  jealousy  within? 

"  I  am  her  only  friend,"  she  said  to  herself,  over  and 
222 


RED    POTTAGE 

over  again.  "  I  cannot  bear  it,  and  I  must  bear  it.  I 
cannot  desert  her  now.  She  has  no  one  to  tarn  to  but 
me." 

"Rachel,  where  are  you?"  said  the  feeble,  plaintive 
voice. 

Rachel  rose  and  went  unsteadily  towards  her.  It  was 
fortunate  the  room  was  lit  only  by  the  fire-light. 

"  Sit  down  by  me  here  on  the  sofa,  and  let  me  lean 
against  you.  You  do  comfort  me,  Rachel,  though  you  say 
nothing.  You  are  the  only  true  friend  I  have  in  the 
world,  the  only  woman  who  really  loves  me.  Your  cheek 
is  quite  wet,  and  you  are  actually  trembling.  You  always 
feel  for  me.  I  can  bear  it  now  you  are  here,  and  he  is 
going  away." 

When  the  boys  had  been  reluctantly  coerced  to  bed, 
Lord  Newhaven  rang  for  his  valet,  told  him  what  to  pack, 
that  he  should  not  want  him  to  accompany  him,  and  then 
went  to  his  sitting-room  on  the  ground-floor. 

"  Scarlett  seems  a  fortunate  person,"  he  said,  pacing  up 
and  down.  "  That  woman  loves  him,  and  if  she  marries 
him  she  will  reform  him.  Is  he  going  to  escape  altogether 
in  this  world  and  the  next — if  there  is  a  next  ?  Is  there  no 
justice  anywhere?  Perhaps  at  this  moment  he  is  think- 
ing that  he  has  salved  his  conscience  by  offering  to  fight, 
and  that,  after  all,  I  can't  do  anything  to  prevent  his  living 
and  marrying  her  if  he  chooses.  He  knows  well  enough 
I  shall  not  touch  him,  or  sue  for  a  divorce,  for  fear  of  the 
scandal.  He  thinks  he  has  me  there.  And  he  is  right. 
But  he  is  mistaken  if  he  thinks  I  can  do  nothing.  I  may 
as  well  go  up  to  London  and  see  for  myself  whether  he  is 
still  on  his  feet  to-morrow  night.  It  is  a  mere  formality, 
but  I  will  do  it.  I  might  have  guessed  that  she  would  try 
to  smirch  her  own  name,  and  the  boys  through  her,  if  she 
had  the  chance.  She  will  defeat  me  yet,  unless  I  am  care- 
ful. Oh,  ye  gods !  why  did  I  marry  a  fool  who  does  not 
even  know  her  own  interests  ?  If  I  had  life  over  again  I 
would  marry  a  Becky  Sharp,  any  she -devil  incarnate,  if 

223 


RED    POTTAGE 

only  she  had  brains.  One  cannot  circumvent  a  fool,  be- 
cause one  can't  foresee  their  line  of  action.  But  Miss 
West,  for  a  miracle,  is  safe.  She  has  a  lock-and-key  face. 
But  she  is  not  for  Scarlett.  Did  Scarlett  tell  her  himself 
in  an  access  of  moral  spring-cleaning  preparatory  to  mat- 
rimony ?  No.  He  may  have  told  her  that  he  had  got  into 
trouble  with  some  woman,  but  not  about  the  drawing  of 
lots.  Whatever  his  faults  are,  he  has  the  instincts  of  a 
gentleman,  and  his  mouth  is  shut.  I  can  trust  him  like 
myself  there.  But  she  is  not  for  him.  He  may  think  he 
will  marry  her,  but  I  draw  the  line  there.  Violet  and  I 
have  other  views  for  him.  He  can  live,  if  he  wants  to, 
and  apparently  he  does  want  to,  though  whether  he  will 
continue  to  want  to  is  another  question.  But  he  shall  not 
have  Rachel.  She  must  marry  Dick." 

A  distant  rumbling  was  heard  of  the  carriage  driving 
under  the  stable  archway  on  its  way  to  the  front-door.  * 

Lord  Newhaven  picked  up  a  novel  with  a  mark  in  it, 
and  left  the  room.  In  the  passage  he  stopped  a  moment 
at  the  foot  of  the  narrow  black  oak  staircase  to  the  nurs- 
eries, which  had  once  been  his  own  nurseries.  All  was 
very  silent.  He  listened,  hesitated ;  his  foot  on  the  lowest 
stair.  The  butler  came  round  the  corner  to  announce  the 
carriage. 

"  I  shall  be  back  in  four  days  at  furthest/'  Lord  New- 
haven  said  to  him,  and  turning,  went  on  quickly  to  the 
hall,  where  the  piercing  night  air  came  in  with  the  stamp- 
ing of  the  impatient  horses'  hoofs. 

A  minute  later  the  two  listening  women  up-stairs  heard 
the  carriage  drive  away  into  the  darkness,  and  a  great 
silence  settled  down  upon  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

"The  fool  saith,  Who  would  have  thought  it?" 

WINTER  had  brought  trouble  with  it  to  Warpington 
Vicarage.  A  new  baby  had  arrived,  and  the  old  baby  was 
learning,  not  in  silence,  what  kings  and  ministers  undergo 
when  they  are  deposed.  Hester  had  never  greatly  cared 
for  the  old  baby.  She  was  secretly  afraid  of  it.  But  in  its 
hour  of  adversity  she  took  to  it,  and  she  and  Regie  spent 
many  hours  consoling  it  for  the  arrival  of  the  little  chrys- 
alis up-stairs. 

Mrs.  Gusley  recovered  slowly,  and  before  she  was  down- 
stairs again  Regie  sickened  with  one  of  those  swift,  sud- 
den illnesses  of  childhood,  which  make  childless  women 
thank  God  for  denying  them  their  prayers. 

Mrs.  Gusley  was  not  well  enough  to  be  told,  and  for 
many  days  Mr.  Gusley  and  Hester  and  Doctor  Brown  held 
Regie  forcibly  back  from  the  valley  of  the  shadow,  where, 
since  the  first  cradle  was  rocked,  the  soft  feet  of  children 
have  cleft  so  sharp  an  entrance  over  the  mother -hearts 
that  vainly  barred  the  way. 

Mr.  Gusley's  face  grew  as  thin  as  Hester's  as  the  days 
went  by.  On  his  rounds  —  for  he  let  nothing  interfere 
with  his  work — heavy  farmers  in  dog-carts,  who  opposed 
him  at  vestry  meetings,  stopped  to  ask  after  Regie.  The 
most  sullen  of  his  parishioners  touched  their  hats  to  him 
as  he  passed,  and  mothers  of  families,  who  never  could  be 
induced  to  leave  their  cooking  to  attend  morning  service, 
and  were  deeply  offended  at  being  called  "after-dinner 
Christians"  in  consequence,  forgot  the  opprobrious  term, 
and  brought  little  offerings  of  new-laid  eggs  and  rosy  ap- 
ples to  tempt  "the  little  master." 
p  225 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  Gusley  was  touched,  grateful. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  always  done  them  justice,"  he 
actually  said  to  Hester  one  day.  "  They  do  seem  to  un- 
derstand me  a  little  better  at  last.  Walsh  has  never 
spoken  to  me  since  my  sermon  on  Dissent,  though  I 
always  make  a  point  of  being  friendly  to  him,  but  to-day 
he  stopped,  and  said  he  knew  what  trouble  was,  and  how 
he  had  lost."  Mr.  Gusley's  voice  faltered.  "  It  is  a  long 
time  ago — but  how,  when  he  was  about  my  age,  he  lost 
his  eldest  boy,  and  how  he  always  remembered  Regie  in 
his  prayers,  and  I  must  keep  up  a  good  heart.  We  shook 
hands/'  said  Mr.  Gusley.  "  I  sometimes  think  Walsh 
means  well,  and  that  he  may  be  a  good-hearted  man,  after 
all." 

Beneath  the  arrogance  which  a  belief  in  Apostolic  suc- 
cession seems  to  induce  in  natures  like  Mr.  Gusley's,  as 
mountain  air  induces  asthma  in  certain  lungs,  the  shaft 
of  agonized  anxiety  had  pierced  to  a  thin  layer  of  humility. 
Hester  knew  that  that  layer  was  only  momentarily  dis- 
turbed, and  that  the  old  self  would  infallibly  reassert  it- 
self ;  but  the  momentary  glimpse  drew  her  heart  towards 
her  brother.  He  was  conscious  of  it,  and  love  almost 
grew  between  them  as  they  watched  by  Regie's  bed. 

At  last,  after  an  endless  night,  the  little  faltering  feet 
came  to  the  dividing  of  the  ways,  and  hesitated.  The 
dawn  fell  gray  on  the  watchful  faces  of  the  doctor  and 
Hester,  and  on  the  dumb  suspense  of  the  poor  father. 
And  with  a  sigh,  as  one  who  half  knows  he  is  making  a 
life-long  mistake,  Regie  settled  himself  against  Hester's 
shoulder  and  fell  asleep. 

The  hours  passed.  The  light  grew  strong,  and  still 
Regie  slept.  Doctor  Brown  put  cushions  behind  Hester, 
and  gave  her  food.  He  looked  anxiously  at  her.  "  Can 
yon  manage?"  he  whispered  later,  when  the  sun  was 
streaming  in  at  the  nursery  window.  And  she  smiled 
back  in  scorn.  Could  she  manage  ?  What  did  he  take 
her  for  ? 

At  last  Regie  stretched  himself  and  opened  his  eyes. 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  doctor  took  him  gently  from  Hester,  gave  him  food, 
and  laid  him  down. 

"  He  is  all  right,"  he  said.     "He  will  sleep  all  day." 

Mr.  Gusley,  who  had  hardly  stirred,  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"Don't  try  to  move,  Miss  Hester,"  said  Doctor  Brown, 
gently. 

Hester  did  not  try.  She  could  not.  Her  hands  and 
face  were  rigid.  She  looked  at  him  in  terror.  "I  shall 
have  to  scream  in  another  moment,"  she  whispered. 

The  old  doctor  picked  her  up,  and  carried  her  swiftly 
to  her  room,  where  Fraulein  ministered  to  her. 

At  last  he  came  down  and  found  Mr.  Gusley  waiting 
for  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stair. 

"You  are  sure  he  is  all  right  ?"  he  asked. 

"Sure.  Fraulein  is  with  him.  He  got  the  turn  at 
dawn." 

"  Thank  God !" 

"  Well,  I  should  say  thank  your  sister,  too.  She  saved 
him.  I  tell  you,  Gusley,  neither  you  nor  I  could  have 
sat  all  those  hours  without  stirring,  as  she  -did.  She  had 
cramp  after  the  first  hour.  She  has  a  will  of  iron  in  that 
weak  body  of  hers." 

"  I  had  no  idea  she  was  uncomfortable, "  said  Mr.  Gns- 
ley,  half  incredulous. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  always  say  you  ought 
not  to  be  a  clergyman,"  snapped  the  little  doctor,  and 
was  gone. 

Mr.  Gusley  was  not  offended.  He  was  too  overwhelmed 
with  thankfulness  to  be  piqued. 

"Good  old  Brown,"  he  said,  indulgently.  "He  has 
been  up  all  night,  and  he  is  so  tired  he  does  not  know  he 
is  talking  nonsense.  As  if  a  man  who  did  not  understand 
cramp  was  not  qualified  to  be  a  priest.  Ha !  ha !  He 
always  likes  to  have  a  little  hit  at  me,  and  he  is  welcome 
to  it.  I  must  just  creep  up  and  kiss  dear  Hester.  I  never 
should  have  thought  she  had  it  in  her  to  care  for  any 
one  as  she  has  shown  she  cares  for  Kegie.  I  shall  tell  her 

337 


RED    POTTAGE 

so,  and  how  surprised  I  am,  and  how  I  love  her  for  it. 
She  has  always  seemed  so  insensible,  so  callous.  But, 
please  God !  this  is  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  for  her. 
If  it  is,  she  shall  never  hear  one  word  of  reproach  about 
the  past  from  me." 

A  day  or  two  later  the  Bishop  of  Southminster  had  a 
touch  of  rheumatism,  and  Doctor  Brown  attended  him. 
This  momentary  malady  may  possibly  account  to  the 
reader  for  an  incident  which  remained  to  the  end  of  life 
inexplicable  to  Mr.  Gusley. 

Two  days  after  Regie  had  taken  the  turn  towards 
health,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  very  same  day  when 
Doctor  Brown  had  interviewed  the  Bishop's  rheumatism, 
the  episcopal  carriage  might  have  been  seen  squeezing  its 
august  proportions  into  the  narrow  drive  of  Warpington 
Vicarage  ;  at  least,  it  was  always  called  the  drive,  though 
the  horses'  noses  were  reflected  in  the  glass  of  the  front- 
door while  the  hind-wheels  still  jarred  the  gate-posts. 

Out  of  the  carriage  stepped,  not  the  Bishop,  but  the 
tall  figure  of  Dick  Vernon,  who  rang  the  bell,  and  then 
examined  a  crack  in  the  portico. 

He  had  plenty  of  time  to  do  so. 

"Lord,  what  fools  I"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "The  crazy 
thing  is  shouting  out  that  it  is  going  to  drop  on  their 
heads,  and  they  put  a  clamp  across  the  crack.  Might  as 
well  put  a  respirator  on  a  South  Sea  Islander.  Is  Mr. 
Gusley  in  ?  Well,  then,  just  ask  him  to  step  this  way,  will 
you  ?  Look  here,  James,  if  you  want  to  be  had  up  for 
manslaughter,  you  leave  this  porch  as  it  is.  No,  I  did 
not  drive  over  from  Southminster  on  purpose  to  tell  you ; 
but  I  mention  it  now  I  am  here." 

"  I  added  the  portico  myself  when  I  came  here,"  said 
Mr.  Gusley,  stiffly,  who  had  not  forgotten  or  forgiven  the 
enormity  of  Dick's  behavior  at  the  temperance  meeting. 

"  So  I  should  have  thought/'  said  Dick,  warming  to  the 
subject,  and  mounting  on  a  small  garden-chair.  "And 
some  escaped  lunatic  has  put  a  clamp  on  the  stucco." 

"  I  placed  the  clamp  myself /'replied  Mr.  Gusley.  "  There 

238 


RED    POTTAGE 

really  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  waste  your  time  and  mine 
here.  I  understand  the  portico  perfectly.  The  crack  is 
merely  superficial." 

"  Is  it  ?"  said  Dick.  "  Then  why  does  it  run  round  those 
two  consumptive  little  pillars  ?  I  tell  you  it's  tired  of 
standing  up.  It's  going  to  sit  down.  Look  here  " — Dick 
tore  at  the  stucco  with  his  knife,  and  caught  the  rivet  as 
it  fell — "that  clamp  was  only  put  in  the  stucco.  It  never 
reached  the  stone  or  the  wood,  whichever  the  little  ken- 
nel is  made  of.  You  ought  to  be  thankful  it  did  not  drop 
on  one  of  the  children,  or  on  your  own  head.  It  would 
have  knocked  all  the  texts  out  of  it  for  some  time  to 
come." 

Mr.  Gusley  did  not  look  very  grateful  as  he  led  the  way 
to  his  study. 

"I  was  lunching  with  the  Bishop  to-day,"  said  Dick, 
"and  Dr.  Brown  was  there.  He  told  us  about  the  trouble 
here.  He  said  the  little  chap  Eegie  was  going  on  like 
a  house  on  fire.  The  Bishop  told  me  to  ask  after  him 
particularly." 

"  He  is  wonderfully  better  every  day,"  said  Mr.  Gusley, 
softening.  "  How  kind  of  the  Bishop  to  send  you  to  in- 
quire. Not  having  children  himself,  I  should  never  have 
thought—" 

" No,"  said  Dick,  "you  wouldn't.  Do  you  remember 
when  we  were  at  Cheam,  and  Ogilvy's  marked  sovereign 
was  found  in  the  pocket  of  my  flannel  trousers.  You  were 
the  only  one  of  the  boys,  you  and  that  sneak  Field,  who 
was  not  sure  I  might  not  have  taken  it.  You  said  it  look- 
ed awfully  bad,  and  so  it  did." 

"  No  one  was  gladder  than  I  was  when  it  was  cleared 
up,"  said  Mr.  Gusley. 

"No,"  said  Dick;  "but  we  don't  care  much  what  any 
one  thinks  when  it's  cleared  up.  It's  before  that  matters. 
Is  Hester  in  ?  I've  two  notes  for  her.  One  from  Brown, 
and  one  from  the  Bishop,  and  my  orders  are  to  take  her 
back  with  me.  That  is  why  the  Bishop  sent  the  carriage." 

"  I  arn  afraid  Hester  will  hardly  care  to  leave  us  at  pres- 

229 


RED    POTTAGE 

ent,"  said  Mr.  Gusley.  f<  My  wife  is  on  her  sofa,  and 
Kegie  is  still  very  weak.  He  has  taken  one  of  those  un- 
accountable fancies  of  children  for  her,  and  can  hardly 
bear  her  out  of  his  sight." 

"  The  Bishop  has  taken  another  of  those  unaccountable 
fancies  for  her/'  said  Dick,  looking  full  at  Mr.  Gusley  in 
an  unpleasant  manner.  "  I'm  not  one  that  holds  that 
parsons  should  have  their  own  way  in  everything.  I've 
seen  too  much  of  missionaries.  I  just  shove  out  curates 
and  vicars  and  all  that  small  fry  if  they  get  in  my  way. 
But  when  they  break  out  in  buttons  and  gaiters,  by  Jove ! 
I  knock  under  to  them — at  least,  I  do  to  men  like  the 
Bishop.  He  knows  a  thing  or  two.  He  has  told  me  not 
to  come  back  without  Hester,  and  I'm  not  going  to.  Ah! 
there  she  is  in  the  garden."  Dick's  large  back  had  been 
turned  towards  the  window,  but  he  had  seen  the  reflec- 
tion of  a  passing  figure  in  the  glass  of  a  framed  testimo- 
nial which  occupied  a  prominent  place  on  the  study  wall, 
and  he  at  once  marched  out  into  the  garden  and  present- 
ed the  letters  to  Hester. 

Hester  was  bewildered  at  the  thought  of  leaving  War- 
pington,  into  which  she  seemed  to  have  grown  like  a 
Buddhist  into  his  tree.  She  was  reluctant,  would  think 
it  over,  etc.  But  Dick,  after  one  glance  at  her  strained 
face,  was  obdurate.  He  would  hear  no  reason.  He  would 
not  go  away.  She  and  Fraulein  nervously  cast  a  few  clothes 
into  a  box,  Fraulein  so  excited  by  the  apparition  of  a  young 
man,  and  a  possible  love  affair,  that  she  could  hardly  fold 
Hester's  tea-gowns. 

When  Hester  came  down  with  her  hat  on  she  found 
Dick  untiring  Mr.  Gusley's  bicycle  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  while  the  outraged  owner  stood  by  remonstrating. 

"I  assure  you,  Dick,  I  don't  wish  it  to  be  touched.  I 
know  my  own  machine.  If  it  were  a  common  puncture  I 
could  mend  it  myself,  but  I  don't  want  the  whole  thing 
ruined  by  an  ignorant  person.  I  shall  take  it  in  to  South- 
minster  on  the  first  opportunity." 

"No  need  to  do  that,"  said  Dick,  cheerfully.  "  Might 

230 


RED    POTTAGE 

as  well  go  to  a  doctor  to  have  your  nails  cut.  Do  it  at 
home.  You  don't  believe  in  the  water  test  ?  Oh !  that's 
rot.  You'll  believe  in  it  when  you  see  it.  You're  learn- 
ing it  now.  There !  Now  Pve  got  it  in  the  pail ;  see  all 
these  blooming  little  bubbles  jostling  up  in  a  row.  There's 
a  leak  at  the  valve.  No,  there  isn't.  It's  only  unscrewed. 
Good  Lord,  James !  it's  only  unscrewed ;  and  you  thought 
the  whole  machine  was  out  of  order.  There,  now,  I've 
screwed  it  up.  Devil  a  bubble  !  What's  that  you're  say- 
ing about  swearing  in  your  presence.  Oh !  don't  apolo- 
gize !  You  can't  help  being  a  clergyman.  Look  for  your- 
self. You  will  never  learn  if  you  look  out  of  the  window 
just  when  a  good-natured  chap  is  showing  you.  I  would 
have  put  the  tire  on  again,  but  as  you  say  you  can  do  it 
better  yourself,  I  won't.  Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Hes- 
ter. And  look  here,  James,  you  ought  to  bicycle  more. 
Strengthen  your  legs  for  playing  the  harmonium  on  Sun- 
days. Well,  I  could  not  tell  you  had  an  organ  in  that 
little  one-horse  church.  Good-bye,  Fraulein;  good-bye, 
James.  Home,  Coleman.  And  look  here,"  said  Dick, 
putting  his  mischievous  face  out  of  the  window  as  the 
carriage  turned,  "  if  you  are  getting  up  steam  for  another 
temperance  meeting,  I'm  your  man." 

"  Good-bye,  dear  James,"  interrupted  Hester,  hastily, 
and  the  carriage  drove  away. 

"He  looks  pasty,"  said  Dick,  after  an  interval.  "  A 
chap  like  James  has  no  power  in  his  arms  and  legs.  He 
can  kneel  down  in  church,  and  put  his  arm  round  Mrs. 
Gusley's  waist,  but  that's  about  all  he's  up  to.  He  doesn't 
take  enough  exercise." 

"  He  is  not  well.  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  have  left 
them." 

"You  had  no  choice.  Brown  said,  unless  you  could  be 
got  away  at  once  you  would  be  laid  up.  I  was  at  luncheon 
at  the  Palace  when  he  said  it.  The  Bishop's  sister  was 
too  busy  with  her  good  works  to  come  herself,  so  I  came 
instead.  I  said  I  should  not  come  back  alive  without 
you.  They  seemed  to  think  I  should  all  the  same,  but,  of 

231 


RED    POTTAGE 

course,  that  was  absurd.  I  wanted  the  Bishop  to  bet  upon 
it,  but  he  wouldn't." 

"  Do  you  always  get  what  you  want  ?"  said  Hester. 

"Generally,  if  it  depends  on  myself.  But  sometimes 
things  depend  on  others  besides  me.  Then  I  may  be 
beaten/' 

They  were  passing  Westhope  Abbey,  mapped  in  a  glory 
of  sunset  and  mist. 

"  Did  you  know  Miss  West  was  there  ?"  Dick  said,  sud- 
denly. 

"  No/'  said  Hester,  surprised.  ' '  I  thought  she  was  in 
London." 

"  She  came  down  last  night  to  be  with  Lady  Newhaven 
who  is  not  well.  Miss  West  is  a  great  friend  of  yours, 
isn't  she  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  she  has  one  fault,  and  it  is  one  I  can't  put  up 
with.  She  won't  look  at  me." 

"Don't  put  up  with  it,"  said  Hester,  softly.  "We 
women  all  have  our  faults,  dear  Dick.  But  if  men  point 
them  out  to  us  in  a  nice  way  we  can  sometimes  cure 
them." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

When  the  sun  sets,  who  doth  not  look  for  night? 

SHAKESPEAKE. 

Two  nights  had  passed  since  Lord  Newhaven  had  left 
the  Abbey.  And  now  the  second  day,  the  first  day  of 
December,  was  waning  to  its  close.  How  Rachel  had 
lived  through  them  she  knew  not.  The  twenty-ninth  had 
been  the  appointed  day.  Both  women  had  endured  till 
then,  feeling  that  that  day  would  make  an  end.  Neither 
had  contemplated  the  possibility  of  hearing  nothing  for 
two  days  more.  Long  afterwards,  in  quiet  years,  Eachel 
tried  to  recall  those  two  days  and  nights.  But  memory 
only  gave  lurid  glimpses,  as  of  lightning  across  darkness. 
In  one  of  those  glimpses  she  recalled  that  Lady  New- 
haven  had  become  ill,  that  the  doctor  had  been  sent  for, 
that  she  had  become  stupefied  with  narcotics.  In  another 
she  was  walking  in  the  desolate  frost-nipped  gardens,  and 
the  two  boys  were  running  towards  her  across  the  grass. 

As  the  sun  sank  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  it 
peered  in  at  her  sitting  alone  by  her  window.  Lady  New- 
haven,  after  making  the  whole  day  frightful,  was  merciful- 
ly asleep.  Rachel  sat  looking  out  into  the  distance  beyond 
the  narrow  confines  of  her  agony.  Has  not  every  man 
and  woman  who  has  suffered  sat  thus  by  the  window, 
looking  out,  seeing  nothing,  but  still  gazing  blindly  out 
hour  after  hour  ? 

Perhaps  the  quiet  mother  earth  watches  us,  and  whispers 
to  our  deaf  ears : 

Warte  nur,  balde 

Ruhest  du  auch. 

233 


RED    POTTAGE 

Little  pulse  of  life  writhing  in  your  shirt  of  fire,  the  shirt 
is  but  of  clay  of  your  mother's  weaving,  and  she  will  take 
it  from  you  presently  when  you  lay  back  your  head  on  her 
breast. 

There  had  been  wind  all  day,  a  high,  dreadful  wind, 
which  had  accompanied  all  the  nightmare  of  the  day  as 
a  wail  accompanies  pain.  But  now  it  had  dropped  with 
the  sun,  who  was  setting  with  little  pageant  across  the 
level  land.  The  whole  sky,  from  north  to  south,  from 
east  to  west,  was  covered  with  a  wind-threshed  floor  of 
thin  wan  clouds,  and  shreds  of  clouds,  through  which,  as 
through  a  veil,  the  steadfast  face  of  the  heaven  beyond 
looked  down. 

And  suddenly,  from  east  to  west,  from  north  to  south, 
as  far  as  the  trees  and  wolds  in  the  dim,  forgotten  east, 
the  exhausted  livid  clouds  blushed  wave  on  wave,  league 
on  league,  red  as  the  heart  of  a  rose.  The  wind-whipped 
earth  was  still.  The  trees  held  their  breath.  Very 
black  against  the  glow  the  carved  cross  on  the  adjoining 
gable  stood  out.  And  in  another  moment  the  mighty  tide 
of  color  went  as  it  had  come,  swiftly  ebbing  across  its  in- 
finite shores  of  sky.  And  the  waiting  night  came  down 
suddenly. 

"  Oh,  my  God  I"  said  Rachel,  stretching  out  her  hands 
to  ward  off  the  darkness.  "  Not  another  night.  I  cannot 
bear  another  night." 

A  slow  step  came  along  the  gravel ;  it  passed  below  the 
window  and  stopped  at  the  door.  Some  one  knocked. 
Rachel  tore  open  the  throat  of  her  gown.  She  was  suffo- 
cating. Her  long-drawn  breathing  seemed  to  deaden  all 
other  sounds.  Nevertheless  she  heard  it — the  faint  foot- 
fall of  some  one  in  the  hall,  a  distant  opening  and  shut- 
ting of  doors.  A  vague,  indescribable  tremor  seemed  to 
run  through  the  house. 

She  stole  out  of  her  room  and  down  the  passage.  At 
Lady  Newhaven's  door  her  French  maid  was  hesitating, 
her  hand  on  the  handle. 

Below,  on  the  stairs,  stood  a  clergyman  and  the  butler. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"I  am  the  bearer  of  sad  tidings/'  said  the  clergy- 
man. Rachel  recognized  him  as  the  Archdeacon  at  whom 
Lord  Newhaven  had  so  often  laughed.  "Perhaps  you 
would  prepare  Lady  Newhaven  before  I  break  them  to 
her/' 

The  door  was  suddenly  opened,  and  Lady  Newhaven 
stood  in  the  doorway.  One  small  clinched  hand  held 
together  the  long  white  dressing-gown,  which  she  had 
hastily  flung  round  her,  while  the  other  was  outstretched 
against  the  door-post.  She  swayed  as  she  stood.  Morphia 
and  terror  burned  in  her  glassy  eyes  fixed  in  agony  upon 
the  clergyman.  The  light  in  the  hall  below  struck  up- 
ward at  her  colorless  face.  In  later  days  this  was  the 
picture  which  Lady  Newhaven  recalled  to  mind  as  the 
most  striking  of  the  whole  series. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Rachel,  sharply. 

The  Archdeacon  advanced. 

"Prepare  yourself,  dear  Lady  Newhaven,"  he  said, 
sonorously.  "  Our  dear  friend,  Lord  Newhaven,  has  met 
with  a  serious  accident.  Er — the  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away.  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  whispered  Lady  Newhaven. 

The  Archdeacon  bowed  his  head. 

Every  one  except  the  children  heard  the  scream  which 
rang  through  the  house. 

Rachel  put  her  arms  round  the  tottering,  distraught 
figure,  drew  it  gently  back  into  the  room,  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

And  Nicanor  lay  dead  in  his  harness. 

—  1  MACABEES,  xv.  28. 

RACHEL  laid  down  the  papers  which  were  full  of  Lord 
Newhaven's  death. 

"  He  has  managed  it  well/'  she  said  to  herself.  "  No 
one  could  suspect  that  it  was  not  an  accident.  He  has 
played  his  losing  game  to  the  bitter  end,  weighing  each 
move.  None  of  the  papers  even  hint  that  his  death  was 
not  an  accident.  He  has  provided  against  that/' 

The  butler  received  a  note  from  Lord  Newhaven  the 
morning  after  his  death,  mentioning  the  train  by  which 
he  should  return  to  Westhope  that  day,  and  ordering  a 
carriage  to  meet  him.  A  great  doctor  made  public  the 
fact  that  Lord  Newhaven  had  consulted  him  the  day  be- 
fore about  the  attacks  of  vertigo  from  which  it  appeared 
he  had  suffered  of  late.  A  similar  attack  seemed  to  have 
seized  upon  him  while  waiting  at  Clapham  Junction  when 
the  down  express  thundered  past.  The  few  who  saw  him 
said  that,  as  he  was  pacing  the  empty  platform,  he  stagger- 
ed suddenly  as  the  train  was  sweeping  up  behind  him,  put 
his  hand  to  his  head,  and  stumbled  over  the  edge  on  to 
the  line.  Death  was  instantaneous.  Only  his  wife  and 
one  other  woman  knew  that  it  was  premeditated. 

' '  The  only  thing  I  cannot  understand  about  it,"  said 
Rachel  to  herself,  "  is  why  a  man,  who  from  first  to  last 
could  act  with  such  caution,  and  with  such  deliberate  de- 
termination, should  have  been  two  days  late.  The  twenty- 
ninth  of  November  was  the  last  day  of  the  five  months, 
and  he  died  on  the  afternoon  of  December  the  first.  Why 
did  he  wait  two  days  after  he  left  Westhope  ?  I  should 

236 


RED    POTTAGE 

have  thought  he  would  have  been  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  overstep  the  allotted  time  by  so  much  as  an  hour. 
Yet,  nevertheless,  he  waited  two  whole  days.  I  don't 
understand  it." 

After  an  interminable  interval  Lord  Newhaven's  lug- 
gage returned,  the  familiar  portmanteau  and  dressing-bag, 
and  even  the  novel  which  he  was  reading  when  he  left 
Westhope,  with  the  mark  still  in  it.  All  came  back. 
And  a  coffin  came  back,  too,  and  was  laid  before  the  little 
altar  in  the  disused  chapel. 

"I  will  go  and  pray  for  him  in  the  chapel  as  soon  as 
the  lid  is  fastened  down,"  said  Lady  Newhaven  to  Rachel, 
"  but  I  dare  not  before.  I  can't  believe  he  is  really  dead. 
And  they  say  somebody  ought  to  look,  just  to  verify.  I 
know  it  is  always  done.  Dear  Rachel,  would  you  mind  ?" 

So  Rachel,  familiar  with  death,  as  all  are  who  haVe 
known  poverty  or  who  have  loved  their  fellows,  went 
alone  into  the  chapel,  and  stood  a  long  time  looking  down 
upon  the  muffled  figure,  the  garment  of  flesh  which  the 
soul  had  so  deliberately  rent  and  flung  aside. 

The  face  was  fixed  in  a  grave  attention,  as  of  one  who 
sees  that  which  he  awaits.  The  sarcasm,  the  weariness, 
the  indifference,  the  impatient  patience,  these  were  gone, 
these  were  indeed  dead.  The  sharp,  thin  face  knew  them 
no  more.  It  looked  intently,  unflinchingly  through  its 
half-closed  eyes  into  the  beyond  which  some  call  death, 
which  some  call  life. 

"Forgive  him,"  said  Rachel,  kneeling  beside  the  coffin. 
"  My  friend,  forgive  him.  He  has  injured  you,  I  know. 
And  your  just  revenge  —  for  you  thought  it  just  —  has 
failed  to  reach  him.  But  the  time  for  vengeance  has 
passed.  The  time  for  forgiveness  has  come.  For- 
give my  poor  Hugh,  who  will  never  forgive  himself. 
Do  you  not  see  now,  you  who  see  so  much,  that  it  was 
harder  for  him  than  for  you  ;  that  it  would  have  been  the 
easier  part  for  him  if  he  had  been  the  one  to  draw  death, 
to  have  atoned  to  you  for  his  sin  against  you  by  his  death, 
instead  of  feeling,  as  he  always  must,  that  your  stroke 

237 


RED    POTTAGE 

failed,  and  that  he  has  taken  your  life  from  you  as  well  as 
your  honor.  Forgive  him,"  said  Rachel,  over  and  over 
again. 

But  the  unheeding  face  looked  earnestly  into  the  future. 
It  had  done  with  the  past. 

"Ah!"  said  Rachel,  "if  I  who  love  him  can  forgive 
him,  cannot  you,  who  only  hated  him,  forgive  him,  too  ? 
For  love  is  greater  than  hate." 

She  covered  the  face  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Le  nombre  des  (Hres  qui  veulent  voir  vrai  est  extraordinairement 
petit.  Ce  qui  domineles  hommes,  c'est  la  peur  de  la  verite,  SL  moins 
que  la  verite  ne  leur  soit  utile.— AMIEL. 

LADY  NEWHAVEN  insisted  on  attending  the  funeral,  a 
little  boy  in  either  hand.  Eachel  had  implored  that  she 
would  spare  the  children,  knowing  how  annoyed  their 
father  would  have  been,  but  Lady  Newhaven  was  ob- 
durate. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He  may  not  have  cared  much  about 
them,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  they  should  forget  he  is 
their  father." 

So  Teddy  and  Pauly  stared  with  round  eyes  at  the 
crowd,  and  at  the  coffin,  and  the  wealth  of  flowers,  and 
the  deep  grave  in  which  their  old  friend  and  play-fellow 
was  laid.  Perhaps  they  did  not  understand.  They  did 
not  cry. 

"They  are  like  their  father.  They  have  not  much 
heart/'  Lady  Newhaven  said  to  Eachel. 

Dick,  who  was  at  the  funeral,  looked  at  them,  winking 
his  hawk  eyes  a  little,  and  afterwards  he  came  back  bold- 
ly to  the  silent  house,  and  obtained  leave  to  take  them 
away  for  the  afternoon.  He  brought  them  back  towards 
bed-time,  with  a  dancing  doll  he  had  made  for  them,  and 
a  man's  face  cut  out  of  cork.  They  met  Rachel  and  the 
governess  in  the  garden  on  their  return,  and  flew  to  them 
with  their  trophies. 

Dick  waited  a  moment  after  the  others  had  gone  in. 

"It  seems  hard  on  him  to  have  left  it  all,"  he  said. 
"His  wife  and  the  little  chaps,  and  his  nice  home  and 
everything." 

239 


RED    POTTAGE 

Eachel  could  say  nothing. 

"  He  was  very  fond  of  the  boys,"  he  went  on.  "  He 
wonld  have  done  anything  for  them." 

"  He  did  what  he  could,"  said  Rachel,  almost  inaudibly, 
and  then  added:  "He  was  very  fond  of  you." 

"  He  was  a  good  friend,"  said  Dick,  his  crooked  mouth 
twitching  a  little,  "  and  a  good  enemy.  That  was  why  I 
liked  him.  He  was  hard  to  make  a  friend  of  or  an  enemy, 
but  when  he  once  did  either  he  never  let  go." 

Rachel  shivered.  The  frost  was  settling  white  upon  the 
grass. 

"I  must  go  in,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"  Are  you  staying  much  longer  ?"  said  Dick,  keeping  it 
in  his. 

"Heave  to-morrow  morning  very  early." 

"You  will  be  in  London,  perhaps." 

"  I  think  so  for  the  present." 

"  May  I  come  and  see  you  ?" 

The  expression  of  Dick's  eyes  was  unmistakable.  In 
the  dusk  he  seemed  all  eyes  and  hands. 

"Dear  Mr.  Dick,  it's  no  use." 

"I  like  plain  speaking,"  said  Dick.  "I  can't  think 
why  it's  considered  such  a  luxury.  You  are  quite  right 
to  say  that,  and  I  should  be  quite  wrong  if  I  did  not  say 
that  I  mean  to  keep  on  till  you  are  actually  married." 

He  released  her  hand  with  difficulty.  It  was  too  dark 
to  see  his  face.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  fled 
into  the  house. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  after  the  funeral  the  strictest 
etiquette  permits,  nay,  encourages,  certain  slight  relaxa- 
tions on  the  part  of  the  bereaved. 

Lady  Newhaven  lay  on  the  sofa  in  her  morning-room  in 
her  long  black  draperies,  her  small  hands  folded.  They 
were  exquisite,  little  blue-veined  hands.  There  were  no 
rings  on  them  except  a  wedding-ring.  Her  maid,  who 
had  been  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  pleasurable  excite- 
ment since  Lord  Newhaven's  death,  glanced  with  enthusi- 

240 


RED    POTTAGE 

astic  admiration  at  her  mistress.  Lady  Newhaven  was  a 
fickle,  inconsiderate  mistress,  but  at  this  moment  her  be- 
havior was  perfect.  She,  Angelique,  knew  what  her  own 
part  should  be,  and  played  it  with  effusion.  She  suffered 
no  one  to  come  into  the  room.  She,  who  would  never  do 
a  hand's  turn  for  the  English  servants,  put  on  coal  with 
her  own  hands.  She  took  the  lamps  from  the  footman  at 
the  door.  Presently  she  brought  in  a  little  tray  with  food 
and  wine,  and  softly  besought  "  Miladi "  to  eat.  Perhaps 
the  mistress  and  maid  understood  each  other.  Lady  New- 
haven  impatiently  shook  her  head,  and  Angelique  wrung 
her  hands.  In  the  end  Angelique  prevailed. 

"  Have  they  all  gone  ?"  Lady  Newhaven  asked,  after  the 
little  meal  was  finished,  and,  with  much  coaxing,  she  had 
drunk  a  glass  of  champagne. 

Angelique  assured  her  they  were  all  gone,  the  relations 
who  had  come  to  the  funeral — "  Milor  Windham  and 
PHonorable  Carson"  were  the  last.  They  were  dining 
with  Miss  West,  and  were  leaving  immediately  after  din- 
ner by  the  evening  express. 

"  Ask  Miss  West  to  come  to  me  as  soon  as  they  have 
gone/7  she  said. 

Angelique  hung  about  the  room,  and  was  finally  dis- 
missed. 

Lady  Newhaven  lay  quite  still,  watching  the  fire.  A 
great  peace  had  descended  upon  that  much-tossed  soul. 
The  dreadful  restlessness  of  the  last  weeks  was  gone.  The 
long  suspense,  prolonged  beyond  its  time,  was  over.  The 
shock  of  its  ending,  which  shattered  her  at  first,  was  over 
too.  She  was  beginning  to  breathe  again,  to  take  comfort 
once  more  :  not  the  comfort  that  Rachel  had  tried  so  hard 
to  give  her,  but  the  comfort  of  feeling  that  happiness  and 
ease  were  in  store  for  her  once  more  ;  that  these  five  hide- 
ous months  were  to  be  wiped  out,  and  not  her  own  past, 
to  which  she  still  secretly  clung,  out  of  which  she  was 
already  building  her  future. 

"  It  is  December  now.  Hugh  and  I  shall  be  married  next 
December,  D.V.,  not  before.  We  will  be  married  quietly 
Q  241 


RED    POTTAGE 

in  London  and  go  abroad.  I  shall  have  a  few  tailor- 
made  gowns  from  Vernon,  but  I  shall  wait  for  my  other 
things  till  I  am  in  Paris  on  my  way  back.  The  boys  will 
be  at  school  by  then.  Panly  is  rather  young,  but  they 
had  better  go  together,  and  they  need  not  come  home  for 
the  holidays  just  at  first.  I  don't  think  Hugh  would  care 
to  have  the  boys  always  about.  I  won't  keep  my  title.  I 
hate  everything  to  do  with  him" — (Lord  Newhaven  was 
still  him) — "and  I  know  the  Queen  does  not  like  it.  I 
will  be  presented  as  Mrs.  Scarlett,  and  we  will  live  at  his 
place  in  Shropshire,  and  at  last  we  shall  be  happy.  Hugh 
will  never  turn  against  me  as  he  did." 

Lady  Xewhaven's  thoughts  travelled  back,  in  spite  of 
herself,  to  her  marriage  with  Lord  Newhaven,  and  the 
humble,  boundless  admiration  which  she  had  accepted  as 
a  matter  of  course,  which  had  been  extinguished  so  en- 
tirely, so  inexplicably,  soon  after  marriage,  which  had 
been  succeeded  by  still  more  inexplicable  paroxysms  of 
bitterness  and  contempt.  Other  men,  Lady  Newhaven 
reflected,  respected  and  loved  their  wives  even  after  they 
lost  their  complexions,  and — she  had  kept  hers.  Why  had 
he  been  different  from  others  ?  It  was  impossible  to  ac- 
count for  men  and  their  ways.  And  how  he  had  sneered 
at  her  when  she  talked  gravely  to  him,  especially  on  relig- 
ious subjects.  Decidedly,  Edward  had  been  very  difficult, 
until  he  settled  down  into  the  sarcastic  indifference  that 
had  marked  all  his  intercourse  withher  after  the  first  year. 

"Hugh  will  never  be  like  that,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"and  he  will  never  laugh  at  me  for  being  religious.  He 
understands  me  as  Edward  never  did.  And  I  will  be  mar- 
ried in  a  pale  shade  of  violet  velvet  trimmed  with  ermine, 
as  it  will  be  a  winter  wedding.  And  my  bouquet  shall  be 
of  Neapolitan  violets,  to  match  my  name." 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  said  Rachel's  voice. 

"  Do,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  but  without  enthusiasm. 

She  no  longer  needed  Rachel.  The  crisis  during  which 
she  had  clung  to  her  was  past.  What  shipwrecked  sea- 
man casts  a  second  thought  after  his  rescue  to  the  log 

242 


RED    POTTAGE 

which  supported  him  upon  a  mountainous  sea  ?  Rachel 
interrupted  pleasant  thoughts.  Lady  Newhaven  observed 
that  her  friend's  face  had  grown  unbecomingly  thin,  and 
that  what  little  color  there  was  in  it  was  faded.  "  She  is 
the  same  age  as  I  am,  but  she  looks  much  older/'  said 
Lady  Newhaven  to  herself,  adding,  aloud  : 

"  Dear  Rachel  I" 

"  Every  one  has  gone,"  said  Rachel,  "  and  I  have  had  a 
telegram  from  Lady  Trentham.  She  has  reached  Paris, 
and  will  be  here  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  Dearest  mamma  !"  said  Lady  Newhaven. 

"  So  now,"  said  Rachel,  sitting  down  near  the  sofa  with 
a  set  countenance,  "  I  shall  feel  quite  happy  about  leaving 
you." 

"  Must  you  go  ?" 

"  I  must.  I  have  arranged  to  leave  by  the  seven-thirty 
to-morrow  morning.  I  think  it  will  be  better  if  we  say 
good-bye  over  night." 

"I  shall  miss  you  dreadfully."  Lady  Newhaven  per- 
ceived suddenly,  and  with  resentment,  that  Rachel  was 
anxious  to  go. 

"I  do  not  think  you  will  miss  me." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  say  that.  Yon  have  been  so 
dear  and  sympathetic.  You  understand  me  much  better 
than  mamma.  And  then  mamma  was  always  so  fond  of 
Edward.  She  cried  for  joy  when  I  was  engaged  to  him. 
She  said  her  only  fear  was  that  I  should  not  appreciate 
him.  She  never  could  see  that  he  was  in  fault.  I  must 
say  he  was  kind  to  her.  I  do  wish  I  was  not  obliged  to 
have  her  now.  I  know  she  will  do  nothing  but  talk  of 
him.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  do  stay,  Rachel." 

"  There  is  a  reason  why  I  can't  stay,  and  why  you  won't 
wish  me  to  stay  when  I  tell  it  you." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Vernon  !  I  saw  you  and  him  holding  hands 
in  the  dusk.  But  I  don't  mind  if  you  marry  him,  Rachel. 
I  believe  he  is  a  good  sort  of  a  young  man  —  not  the  kind 
I  could  ever  have  looked  at;  but  what  does  that  matter? 
I  am  afraid  it  has  rankled  in  your  mind  that  I  once 

243 


RED    POTTAGE 

warned  you  against  him.     But,  after  all,  it  is  your  affair, 
not  mine." 

"  I  was  not  going  to  speak  of  Mr.  Vernon." 

Lady  Newhaven  sighed  impatiently.  She  did  not  want 
to  talk  of  Rachel's  affairs.  She  wanted,  now  the  funeral 
was  over,  to  talk  of  her  own.  She  often  said  there  were 
few  people  with  less  curiosity  about  others  than  herself. 

Rachel  pulled  herself  together. 

"  Violet,"  she  said,  "  we  have  known  each  other  five 
months,  haven't  we?" 

"Yes,  exactly.  The  first  time  you  came  to  my  house 
was  that  dreadful  night  of  the  drawing  of  lots.  I  always 
thought  Edward  drew  the  short  lighter.  It  was  so  like 
him  to  turn  it  off  with  a  laugh." 

"I  want  you  to  remember,  if  ever  you  think  hardly  of 
me,  that  during  those  five  months  I  did  try  to  be  a  friend. 
I  may  have  failed,  but — I  did  my  best." 

"But  you  did  not  fail.  You  have  been  a  real  friend, 
and  you  will  always  be  so,  dear  Rachel.  And  when  Hugh 
and  I  are  married  you  will  often  come  and  stay  with  us." 

A  great  compassion  flooded  Rachel's  heart  for  this  poor 
creature,  with  its  house  of  cards.  Then  her  face  became 
fixed  as  a  surgeon's  who  gets  out  his  knife. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  —  you  ought  to  know  — 
that  I  care  for  Mr.  Scarlett." 

"He  is  mine,"  said  Lady  Newhaven  instantly,  her  blue 
eyes  dilating. 

"  He  is  unmarried,  and  I  am  unmarried,"  said  Rachel, 
hoarsely.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  came  about,  but  I  have 
gradually  became  attached  to  him." 

"  He  is  not  unmarried.  It  is  false.  He  is  my  husband 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  I  have  always,  through  everything, 
looked  upon  him  as  such." 

This  seemed  more  probable  than  that  Heaven  had  so  re- 
garded him.  Rachel  did  not  answer.  She  had  confided 
her  love  to  no  one,  not  even  to  Hester;  and  to  speak  of  it 
to  Lady  Newhaven  had  been  like  tearing  the  words  out 
of  herself  with  hot  pincers. 

244 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  knew  he  was  poor,  but  I  did  not  know  he  was  as 
poor  as  that,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  after  a  pause. 

Rachel  got  up  suddenly,  and  moved  away  to  the  fire- 
place. She  felt  it  would  be  horribly  easy  to  strangle  that 
voice. 

"  And  you  came  down  here  pretending  to  be  my  friend, 
while  all  the  time  you  were  stealing  his  heart  from  me." 

Still  Rachel  did  not  answer.  Her  forehead  was  pressed 
against  the  mantel-shelf.  She  prayed  urgently  that  she 
might  stay  upon  the  hearth-rug,  that  whatever  happened 
she  might  not  go  near  the  sofa. 

"  And  yon  think  he  is  in  love  with  you?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Are  you  not  rather  credulous?  But  I  suppose  he  has 
told  you  over  and  over  again  that  he  cares  for  you  your- 
self alone.  Is  the  wedding-day  fixed?" 

"  No,  he  has  not  asked  me  to  marry  him  yet.  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  before  it  happened/'" 

Lady  Newhaven  threw  herself  back  on  the  sofa.  She 
laughed  softly.  A  little  mirror  hung  tilted  at  an  angle 
which  allowed  her  to  see  herself  as  she  lay.  She  saw  a 
very  beautiful  woman,  and  then  she  turned  and  looked  at 
Rachel,  who  had  no  beauty,  as  she  understood  it,  and 
laughed  again. 

"My  poor  dear,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  made  Rachel 
wince,  "Hugh  is  no  better  than  the  worst.  He  has  made 
love  to  you  pour  passer  le  temps,  and  you  have  taken  him 
seriously,  like  the  dear,  simple  woman  you  are.  But  he 
will  never  marry  you.  You  own  he  has  not  proposed?  Of 
course  not.  Men  are  like  that.  It  is  hateful  of  them,  but 
they  will  do  it.  They  are  the  vainest  creatures  in  the 
world.  Don't  you  see  that  the  reason  he  has  not  asked 
you  is  because  he  knew  that  Edward  had  to  —  and  that  I 
should  soon  be  free  to  marry  him.  And,  Rachel,  you  need 
not  feel  the  least  little  bit  humiliated,  for  I  shan't  tell  a 
soul,  and,  after  all,  he  loved  me  first." 

Lady  Newhaven  was  quite  reassured.  It  had  been  a 
horrible  moment,  but  it  was  past. 

245 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Why  do  I  always  make  trouble?"  she  said,  with  plain- 
tive self-complacency.  "  Rachel,  you  must  not  be  jealous 
of  me.  I  can't  help  it." 

Rachel  tried  to  say  "  I  am  not,"  but  the  words  would 
not  come.  She  was  jealous,  jealous  of  the  past,  cut  to  the 
heart  every  time  she  noticed  that  Lady  Newhaven's  hair 
waved  over  her  ears,  and  that  she  had  taper  fingers. 

"I  think  it  is  no  use  talking  of  this  any  more,"  Rachel 
said.  "  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  speak  of  it  at  all.  I  did 
as  I  would  be  done  by.  As  I  am  starting  early  I  think  I 
will  say  good-night  and  good-bye." 

"  Good-night,  dear  Rachel,  and  perhaps,  as  you  say,  it 
had  better  be  good-bye.  You  may  remain  quite  easy  in 
your  mind  that  I  shall  never  breathe  a  word  of  what  you 
have  said  to  any  living  soul — except  Hugh,"  she  added  to 
herself,  as  Rachel  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

"To  every  coward  safety,  and  afterwards  his  evil  hour." 

SLEEP,  that  fickle  courtier  of  our  hours  of  ease,  had  de- 
serted Hugh.  When  the  last  hour  of  the  last  day  was 
over,  and  the  dawn  which  he  had  bound  himself  in  honor 
not  to  see  found  him  sitting  alone  in  his  room,  where  he 
had  sat  all  night,  horror  fell  upon  him  at  what  he  had 
done.  Now  that  its  mire  was  upon  him  he  saw  by  how 
fonl,  by  how  dastardly  a  path  he  had  escaped. 

"To  every  coward  safety,  and  afterwards  his  evil  hour/' 
Hugh's  evil  hour  had  come.  But  was  he  a  coward  ?  Men 
not  braver  than  he  have  earned  the  Victoria  Cross,  have 
given  up  their  lives  freely  for  others.  Hugh  had  it  in  him 
to  do  as  well  as  any  man  in  hot  blood,  but  not  in  cold. 
That  was  where  Lord  Newhaven  had  the  advantage  of 
him.  He  had  been  overmatched  from  the  first.  The 
strain  without  had  been  greater  than  the  power  of  resist- 
ance within.  As  the  light  grew  Hugh  tasted  of  that  cup 
which  God  holds  to  no  man's  lips — remorse.  Would  the 
cup  of  death  which  he  had  pushed  aside  have  been  more 
bitter  ? 

He  took  up  his  life  like  a  thief.  Was  it  not  stolen  ? 
He  could  not  bear  his  rooms.  He  could  not  bear  the 
crowded  streets.  He  could  not  bear  the  parks.  He  wan- 
dered aimlessly  from  one  to  the  other,  driven  out  of  each 
in  turn,  consumed  by  the  smouldering  flame  of  his  self- 
contempt.  Scorn  seemed  written  on  the  faces  of  the  pass- 
ers-by. As  the  day  waned,  he  found  himself  once  again 
for  the  twentieth  time  in  the  park,  pacing  in  "  the  dim, 
persistent  rain,"  which  had  been  falling  all  day. 

But  he  could  not  get  away  from  the  distant  roar  of  the 

247 


RED    POTTAGE 

traffic.  He  heard  it  everywhere,  like  the  Niagara  which 
he  had  indeed  escaped,  but  the  sound  of  which  would  be 
in  his  ears  till  he  died.  He  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
traffic,  and  stood  still  in  the  rain  listening  to  it  intently. 
Might  one  of  those  thousand  wheels  be  even  now  bringing 
his  enemy  towards  him,  to  force  him  to  keep  his  unspoken 
word.  Hugh  had  not  realized  that  his  worst  enemy  was 
he  who  stood  with  him  in  the  rain. 

The  forlorn  London  trees,  black  and  bare,  seemed  to 
listen  too,  and  to  cling  closer  to  their  parks  and  grass,  as 
if  they  dimly  foresaw  the  inevitable  time  coming  when 
they  too  should  toil,  and  hate,  and  suffer,  as  they  saw  on 
all  sides  those  stunted  uprooted  figures  toil  and  suffer, 
which  had  once  been  trees  like  themselves.  "  We  shall 
come  to  it/7  they  seemed  to  say,  shivering  in  all  their 
branches,  as  they  peered  through  the  iron  rails  at  the 
stream  of  human  life,  much  as  man  peers  at  a  passing 
funeral. 

The  early  night  drove  Hugh  back  to  the  house.  He 
found  a  note,  from  a  man  who  had  rooms  above  him,  en- 
closing a  theatre  ticket,  which  at  the  last  moment  he  had 
been  prevented  using.  He  instantly  clutched  at  the  idea 
of  escaping  from  himself  for  a  few  hours  at  least.  He 
hastily  changed  his  wet  clothes,  ate  the  food  that  had  been 
prepared  for  him,  and  hurried  out  once  more. 

The  play  was  "Julius  Caesar," at  Her  Majesty's.  He 
had  seen  it  several  times,  but  to-night  it  appealed  to  him 
as  it  had  never  done  before.  He  hardly  noticed  the  other 
actors.  His  whole  interest  centred  in  the  awful  figure  of 
Cassius,  splendid  in  its  unswerving  deathless  passion  of  a 
great  hate  and  a  great  love.  His  eyes  never  left  the  ruth- 
less figure  as  it  stood  in  silence  with  its  unflinching  eyes 
upon  its  victim.  Had  not  Lord  Newhaven  thus  watched 
him,  Hugh,  ready  to  strike  when  the  hour  came. 

The  moment  of  the  murder  was  approaching.  Hugh 
held  his  breath.  Oassius  knelt  with  the  rest  before  Caesar. 
Hugh  saw  his  hand  seek  the  handle  of  his  sword,  saw  the 
end  of  the  sheath  tilt  upwards  under  his  robe  as  the  blade 

248 


RED    POTTAGE 

slipped  out  of  it.  Then  came  the  sudden  outburst  of 
animal  ferocity  long  held  in  leash,  of  stab  on  stab,  the 
self -recovery,  the  cold  stare  at  the  dead  figure  with 
Cassius's  foot  upon  its  breast. 

For  a  moment  the  scene  vanished.  Hugh  saw  again 
the  quiet  study  with  its  electric  reading-lamp,  the  pistols 
over  the  mantel-piece,  the  tiger  glint  in  Lord  Newhaven's 
eyes.  He  was  like  Cassius.  He,  too,  had  been  ready  to 
risk  life,  everything  in  the  prosecution  of  his  hate. 

"  He  shall  never  stand  looking  down  on  my  body," 
said  Hugh  to  himself,  "with  his  cursed  foot  upon  me/' 
And  he  realized  that  if  he  had  been  a  worthier  antago- 
nist, that  also  might  have  been.  The  play  dealt  with 
men.  Cassius  and  Lord  Newhaven  were  men.  But  what 
was  he  ? 

The  fear  of  death  leading  the  love  of  life  by  the  hand 
took  with  shame  a  lower  seat.  Hugh  saw  them  at  last  in 
their  proper  places.  If  he  could  have  died  then  he  would 
have  died  cheerfully,  gladly,  as  he  saw  Cassius  die  by  his 
own  hand,  counting  death  the  little  thing  it  is.  After- 
wards, as  he  stood  in  the  crowd  near  the  door,  where  the 
rain  was  delaying  the  egress,  he  saw  suddenly  Lord  New- 
haven's  face  watching  him.  His  heart  leaped.  "  He  has 
come  to  make  me  keep  my  word,"  he  said  to  himself,  the 
exaltation  of  the  play  still  upon  him.  "  I  will  not  avoid 
him.  Let  him  do  it,"  and  he  pressed  forward  towards 
him. 

Lord  Newhaven  looked  fixedly  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  disappeared. 

"  He  will  follow  me  and  stab  me  in  the  back/'  said 
Hugh.  "  I  will  walk  home  by  the  street  where  the  pave- 
ment is  up,  and  let  him  do  it." 

He  walked  slowly,  steadily  on,  looking  neither  to  right 
nor  left.  Presently  he  came  to  a  barrier  across  a  long 
deserted  street,  with  a  red  lamp  keeping  guard  over  it. 
He  walked  deliberately  up  it.  He  had  no  fear.  In  the 
middle  he  stopped,  and  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar- 
ette. 

249 


RED    POTTAGE 

\ 

A  soft  step  was  coming  up  behind  him. 

"  It  will  be  quickly  over,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Wait. 
Don't  look  round." 

He  stood  motionless.  His  silver  cigarette-case  dropped 
from  his  hand.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  second,  forgetting 
to  pick  it  up.  A  dirty  hand  suddenly  pounced  upon  it, 
and  a  miserable  ragged  figure  flew  past  him  up  the  street. 
Hugh  stared  after  it,  bewildered,  and  then  looked  round. 
The  street  was  quite  empty.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
something  between  relief  and  despair  took  hold  of  him. 

"  Then  he  does  not  want  to,  after  all.  He  has  not  even 
followed  me.  Why  was  he  there  ?  He  was  waiting  for 
me.  What  horrible  revenge  is  he  planning  against  me. 
Is  he  laying  a  second  trap  for  me  ?" 

The  following  night  Hugh  read  in  the  evening  papers 
that  Lord  Newhaven  had  been  accidently  killed  on  the 
line.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  too  sudden,  too  over- 
whelming. He  could  not  bear  it.  He  could  not  live 
through  it.  He  flung  himself  on  his  face  upon  the  floor, 
and  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 

The  cyclone  of  passion  which  had  swept  Hugh  into  its 
vortex  spent  itself  and  him,  and  flung  him  down  at  last. 
How  long  a  time  elapsed  he  never  knew  between  the 
moment  when  he  read  the  news  of  the  accident  and  the 
moment  when  shattered,  exhausted,  disfigured  by  emotion, 
he  raised  himself  to  his  feet.  He  opened  the  window, 
and  the  night  air  laid  its  cool  mother-touch  upon  his  face 
and  hands.  The  streets  were  silent.  The  house  was 
silent.  He  leaned  with  closed  eyes  against  the  window- 
post.  Time  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 

And  after  a  while  angels  came  and  ministered  to  him. 
Thankfulness  came  softly,  gently,  to  take  his  shaking 
hand  in  hers.  The  awful  past  was  over.  A  false  step,  a 
momentary  giddiness  on  the  part  of  his  enemy,  and  the 
hideous  strangling  meshes  of  the  past  had  fallen  from  him 
at  a  touch,  as  if  they  had  never  wrapped  him  round.  Lord 

250 


RED    POTTAGE 

Newhaven  was  gone  to  return  no  more.  The  past  went 
with  him.  Dead  men  tell  no  tales.  No  one  knew  of  the 
godless  compact  between  them,  and  of  how  he,  Hugh,  had 
failed  to  keep  to  it,  save  they  two  alone.  He  and  one 
other.  And  that  other  was  dead — was  dead. 

Hope  came  next,  shyly,  silently,  still  pale  from  the  em- 
brace of  her  sister  Despair,  trimming  anew  her  little  lamp, 
which  the  laboring  breath  of  Despair  had  wellnigh  blown 
out.  She  held  the  light  before  Hugh,  shading  it  with 
her  veil,  for  his  eyes  were  dazed  with  long  gazing  into 
darkness.  She  turned  it  faintly  upon  the  future,  and  he 
looked  where  the  light  fell.  And  the  light  grew. 

He  had  a  future  once  more.  He  had  been  given  that 
second  chance  for  which  he  had  so  yearned.  His  life 
was  his  own  once  more  :  not  the  shamed  life  in  death — 
worse  than  death  of  the  last  two  days — but  his  own  to 
take  up  again,  to  keep,  to  enjoy,  best  of  all,  to  use  worthily. 
No  horrible  constraint  was  upon  him  to  lay  it  down,  or  to 
live  in  torment  because  he  still  held  it.  He  was  free,  free 
to  marry  Rachel  whom  he  loved,  and  who  loved  him. 
He  saw  his  life  with  her.  Hope  smiled,  and  turned  up 
her  light.  It  was  too  bright.  Hugh  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

And,  last  of  all,  dwarfing  Hope,  came  a  divine  constrain- 
ing presence  who  ever  stretches  out  strong  hands  to  them 
that  fall,  who  alone  sets  the  stumbling  feet  upon  the  up- 
ward path.  Repentance  came  to  Hugh  at  last.  In  all 
this  long  time  she  had  not  come  while  he  was  suffering, 
while  smouldering  Remorse  had  darkened  his  soul  with 
smoke.  But  in  this  quiet  hour  she  came  and  stood  beside 
him. 

Hugh  had  in  the  past  leaned  heavily  on  extenuating 
circumstances.  He  had  made  many  excuses  for  him- 
self. But  now  he  made  none.  Perhaps,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  under  the  pressure  of  that  merciful, 
that  benign  hand,  he  was  sincere  with  himself.  He  saw 
his  conduct  —  that  easily  condoned  conduct — as  it  was. 
Love  and  Repentance,  are  not  these  the  great  teachers  ? 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Some  of  us  so  frame  our  lives  that  we  never  come  face  to 
face  with  either,  or  with  ourselves.  Hugh  came  to  himself 
at  last.  He  saw  how,  whether  detected  or  not,  his  sin  had 
sapped  his  manhood,  spread  like  a  leaven  of  evil  through 
his  whole  life,  laid  its  hideous  touch  of  desecration  and 
disillusion  even  on  his  love  for  Rachel.  It  had  tarnished 
his  mind;  his  belief  in  others ;  his  belief  in  good.  These 
ideals,  these  beliefs  had  been  his  possession  once,  his  birth- 
right. He  had  sold  his  birthright  for  red  pottage.  Until 
now  he  had  scorned  the  red  pottage.  Now  he  saw  that 
his  sin  lay  deeper,  even  in  his  original  scorn  of  his  birth- 
right, his  disbelief  in  the  Divine  Spirit  who  dwells  with 
man. 

Nevertheless  his  just  punishment  had  been  remitted. 
Hitherto  he  had  looked  solely  at  that  punishment,  feeling 
that  it  was  too  great.  He  had  prayed  many  times  that 
he  might  escape  it.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  prayed 
that  he  might  be  forgiven. 

Repentance  took  his  hands  and  locked  them  together. 

"  God  helping  me,"  he  said,  "  I  will  lead  a  new  life." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

"Les  sots  sont  plus  &  craiudre  que  les  mechants." 

MR.  GUSLEY  had  often  remarked  to  persons  in  afflic- 
tion that  when  things  are  at  their  worst  they  generally 
take  a  turn  for  the  better.  This  profound  truth  was 
proving  itself  equal  to  the  occasion  at  Warpington  Vi- 
carage. 

Mrs.  Gusley  was  well  again,  after  a  fortnight  at  the  sea- 
side with  Eegie.  The  sea  air  had  blown  back  a  faint 
color  into  Kegie's  cheeks.  The  new  baby's  vaccination 
was  ceasing  to  cast  a  vocal  gloom  over  the  thin-walled 
house.  The  old  baby's  whole  attention  was  mercifully 
diverted  from  his  wrongs  to  the  investigation  of  that  con- 
nection between  a  chair  and  himself,  which  he  perceived 
the  other  children  could  assume  at  pleasure.  He  stood 
for  hours  looking  at  his  own  little  chair,  solemnly  seating 
himself  at  long  intervals  where  no  chair  was.  But  his 
mind  was  working,  and  work,  as  we  know,  is  the  panacea 
for  mental  anguish. 

Mr.  Gusley  had  recovered  that  buoyancy  of  spirits 
which  was  the  theme  of  Mrs.  Gusley's  increasing  admi- 
ration. 

On  this  particular  evening,  when  his  wife  had  asked 
him  if  the  beef  were  tender,  he  had  replied,  as  he  always 
did  if  in  a  humorous  vein:  "  Douglas,  Douglas,  tender 
and  true."  The  arrival  of  the  pot  of  marmalade  (that 
integral  part  of  the  mysterious  meal  which  begins  with 
meat  and  is  crowned  with  buns)  had  been  hailed  by  the 
exclamation,  "What !  More  family  jars."  In  short,  Mr. 
Gusley  was  himself  again. 

253 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  jocund  Vicar,  with  his  arm  round  Mrs.  Gusley, 
proceeded  to  the  drawing-room. 

On  the  hall  table  was  a  large  parcel  insured  for  two 
hundred  pounds.  It  had  evidently  just  arrived  by  rail. 

"Ah!  ha!"  said  Mr.  Gusley.  "My  pamphlets  at  last. 
Very  methodical  of  Smithers  insuring  them  for  such  a 
large  sum/' and,  without  looking  at  the  address,  he  cut 
the  string. 

"  Well  packed,"  he  remarked.  "  Water-proof  sheeting, 
I  do  declare.  Smithers  is  certainly  a  cautious  man.  Ha! 
at  last!" 

The  inmost  wrapping  shelled  off,  and  Mr.  Gusley's  jaw 
dropped.  Where  were  the  little  green  and  gold  pamphlets 
entitled  "Modern  Dissent,"  for  which  his  parental  soul 
was  yearning?  He  gazed  down  frowning  at  a  solid  mass 
of  manuscript,  written  in  a  small,  clear  hand. 

"  This  is  Hester's  writing,"  he  said.  "  There  is  some 
mistake." 

He  turned  to  the  direction  on  the  outer  cover. 

"  Miss  Hester  Gusley,  care  of  Rev.  James  Gusley."  He 
had  only  seen  his  own  name. 

"I  do  believe,"  he  said,  "that  this  is  Hester's  book, 
refused  by  the  publisher.  Poor  Hester!  I  am  afraid  she 
will  feel  that." 

His  turning  over  of  the  parcel  dislodged  an  unfolded 
sheet  of  note-paper,  which  made  a  parachute  expedition 
to  the  floor.  Mr.  Gusley  picked  it  up  and  laid  it  on  the 
parcel. 

"Oh!  it's  not  refused,  after  all,"  he  said,  his  eye  catch- 
Ing  the  sense  of  the  few  words  before  him.  "  Hester  seems 
to  have  sent  for  it  back  to  make  some  alterations,  and  Mr. 
Bentham — I  suppose  that  is  the  publisher — asks  for  it 
back  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  Then  she  has  sold  it 
to  him.  I  wonder  what  she  got  for  it.  She  got  a  hundred 
for  The  Idyll.  It  is  wonderful  to  think  of,  when  Bishop 
Heavysides  got  nothing  at  all  for  his  Diocesan  sermons, 
and  had  to  make  up  thirty  pounds  out  of  his  own  pocket 
as  well.  But  as  long  as  the  public  is  willing  to  pay 

254 


RED    POTTAGE 

through  the  nose  for  trashy  fiction  to  amuse  its  idleness, 
so  long  will  novelists  reap  in  these  large  harvests.  If  I 
had  Hester's  talent— 

"  You  have.  Mrs.  Loftus  was  saying  so  only  yesterday." 

"  If  I  had  time  to  work  it  out,  I  should  not  pander  to 
the  depraved  public  taste  as  Hester  does.  I  should  use  my 
talent,  as  I  have  often  told  her,  for  the  highest  ends,  not 
for  the  lowest.  It  would  be  my  aim,"  Mr.  Gusley's  voice 
rose  sonorously,  "  to  raise  my  readers,  to  educate  them, 
to  place  a  high  ideal  before  them,  to  ennoble  them." 

"You  could  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  with  conviction. 
And  it  is  probable  that  the  conviction  both  felt  was  a  true 
one;  that  Mr.  Gusley  could  write  a  book  which  would, 
from  their  point  of  view,  fulfil  these  vast  requirements. 

Mr.  Gusley  shook  his  head,  and  put  the  parcel  on  a 
table  in  his  study. 

"Hester  will  be  back  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
"and  then  she  can  take  charge  of  it  herself."  And  he 
filled  in  the  railway  form  of  its  receipt. 

Mrs.  Gusley,  who  had  been  to  tea  with  the  Pratts  for 
the  first  time  since  her  convalescence,  was  tired,  and  went 
early  to  bed;  or,  as  Mr.  Gusley  termed  it,  "Bedfordshire"; 
and  Mr.  Gusley  retired  to  his  study  to  put  a  few  finishing 
touches  to  a  paper  he  was  writing  on  St.  Augustine — not 
by  request — for  that  receptacle  of  clerical  genius,  the  par- 
ish magazine. 

Will  the  contents  of  parish  magazines  always  be  written 
by  the  clergy?  Is  it  Utopian  to  hope  that  a  day  will  dawn 
when  it  will  be  perceived  even  by  clerical  editors  that 
Apostolic  Succession  does  not  invariably  confer  literary 
talent?  What  can  an  intelligent  artisan  think  when  he 
reads' — what  he  reads — in  his  parish  magazine?  A  serial 
story  by  a  Kector  unknown  to  fame,  who,  if  he  possesses 
talent,  conceals  it  in  some  other  napkin  than  the  parish 
magazine ;  a  short  paper  on  "  Bees,"  by  an  Archdeacon ; 
"  An  Easter  Hymn,"  by  a  Bishop,  and  such  a  good  bishop, 
too — but  what  a  hymn!  "  Poultry -Keeping,"  by  Alice 
Brown.  We  draw  breath,  but  the  relief  is  only  moment- 


RED    POTTAGE 

ary.  "  Side  Lights  on  the  Reformation/'  by  a  Canon. 
"  Half-hours  with  the  Young,"  by  a  Rural  Dean. 

But  as  an  invalid  will  rebel  against  a  long  course  of  milk 
puddings,  and  will  crave  for  the  jam  roll  which  is  for 
others,  so  Mr.  G-usley's  mind  revolted  from  St.  Augustine, 
and  craved  for  something  different. 

His  wandering  eye  fell  on  Hester's  book. 

"I  can't  attend  to  graver  things  to-night/'  he  said,  "I 
will  take  a  look  at  Hester's  story.  I  showed  her  my  paper 
on  "  Dissent,"  so,  of  course,  I  can  dip  into  her  book.  I 
hate  lopsided  confidences,  and  I  dare  say  I  could  give  her 
few  hints,  as  she  did  me.  Two  heads  are  better  than 
one.  The  Pratts  and  Thursbys  all  think  that  bit  in  The 
Idyll  where  the  two  men  quarrelled  was  dictated  by  me. 
Strictly  speaking,  it  wasn't,  but  no  doubt  she  picked  up 
her  knowledge  of  men,  which  surprises  people  so  much, 
from  things  she  has  heard  me  say.  She  certainly  did  not 
want  me  to  read  her  book.  She  said  I  should  not  like  it. 
But  I  shall  have  to  read  it  some  time,  so  I  may  as  well 
skim  it  before  it  goes  to  the  printers.  I  have  always  told 
her  I  did  not  feel  free  from  responsibility  in  the  matter 
after  The  Idyll  appeared  with  things  in  it  which  I  should 
have  made  a  point  of  cutting  out,  if  she  had  only  con- 
sulted me  before  she  rushed  into  print." 

Mr.  Gusley  lifted  the  heavy  mass  of  manuscript  to  his 
writing-table,  turned  up  his  reading-lamp,  and  sat  down 
before  it. 

The  church  clock  struck  nine.  It  was  always  wrong, 
but  it  set  the  time  at  Warpington. 

There  were  two  hours  before  bedtime — I  mean  "Bed- 
fordshire." 

He  turned  over  the  first  blank  sheet  and  came  to  the 
next,  which  had  one  word  only  written  on  it. 

"  Husks!"  said  Mr.  G-usley.  "  That  must  be  the  title. 
Husks  that  the  swine  did  eat.  Ha !  I  see.  A  very  good 
sound  story  might  be  written  on  that  theme  of  a  young 
man  who  left  the  Church,  and  how  inadequate  he  found 
the  teaching — the  spiritual  food — of  other  denominations 

256 


RED    POTTAGE 

compared  to  what  he  had  partaken  freely  of  in  his  Father's 
house.  Husks !  It  is  not  a  bad  name,  but  it  is  too  short. 
'  The  Consequences  of  Sin  '  would  be  better,  more  striking, 
and  convey  the  idea  in  a  more  impressive  manner."  Mr. 
Gusley  took  up  his  pen,  and  then  laid  it  down.  "  I  will 
run  through  the  story  before  I  alter  the  name.  It  may 
not  take  the  line  I  expect." 

It  did  not. 

The  next  page  had  two  words  on  it : 

"To  KACHEL." 

What  an  extraordinary  thing !  Any  one,  be  they  who 
they  might,  would  naturally  have  thought  that  if  the  book 
were  dedicated  to  any  one  it  would  be  to  her  only  brother. 
But  Hester,  it  seemed,  thought  nothing  of  blood  relations. 
She  disregarded  them  entirely. 

The  blood  relation  began  to  read.  He  seemed  to  for- 
get to  skip.  Page  after  page  was  slowly  turned.  Some- 
times he  hesitated  a  moment  to  change  a  word.  He  had 
always  been  conscious  of  a  gift  for  finding  the  right  word. 
This  gift  Hester  did  not  share  with  him.  She  often  got 
hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  the  stick.  He  could  hardly  re- 
frain from  a  smile  when  he  came  across  the  sentence, 
"  He  was  young  enough  to  know  better,"  as  he  substituted 
in  a  large  illegible  hand  the  word  old  for  young.  There 
were  many  obvious  little  mistakes  of  this  kind  that  he 
corrected  as  he  read,  but  now  and  then  he  stopped 
short. 

One  of  the  characters,  an  odious  person,  was  continual- 
ly saying  things  she  had  no  business  to  say.  Mr.  Gusley 
wondered  how  Hester  had  come  across  such  doubtful 
women — not  under  his  roof.  Lady  Susan  must  have  as- 
sociated with  thoroughly  unsuitable  people. 

"  I  keep  a  smaller  spiritual  establishment  than  I  did," 
said  the  odious  person.  "  I  have  dismissed  that  old  friend 
of  my  childhood,  the  devil.  I  really  had  no  further  use 
for  him/' 

K  257 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  Gusley  crossed  through  the  passage  at  once.  How 
could  Hester  write  so  disrespectfully  of  the  devil? 

"  This  is  positive  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  irritably ; 
"coming  as  it  does  just  after  the  sensible  chapter  about 
the  new  vicar  who  made  a  clean  sweep  of  all  the  old  dead 
regulations  in  his  parish  because  he  felt  he  must  introduce 
spiritual  life  into  the  place.  Now  that  is  really  good.  I 
don't  quite  know  what  Hester  means  by  saying  he  took  ex- 
ercise in  his  clerical  cul-de-sac.  I  think  she  means  surtout, 
but  she  is  a  good  French  scholar,  so  she  probably  knows 
what  she  is  talking  about." 

"Whatever  the  book  lacked  it  did  not  lack  interest.  Still, 
it  bristled  with  blemishes. 

And  then  what  could  the  Pratts,  or  indeed  any  one, 
make  of  such  a  sentence  as  this  : 

"When  we  look  back  at  what  we  were  seven  years  ago, 
five  years  ago,  and  perceive  the  difference  in  ourselves,  a 
difference  amounting  almost  to  change  of  identity ;  when 
we  look  back  and  see  in  how  many  characters  we  have 
lived  and  loved  and  suffered  and  died  before  we  reached 
the  character  that  momentarily  clothes  us,  and  from  which 
our  soul  is  struggling  out  to  clothe  itself  anew ;  when  we 
feel  how  the  sympathy  even  of  those  who  love  us  best  is 
always  with  our  last  expression,  never  with  our  present 
feeling,  always  with  the  last  dead  self  on  which  our  climb- 
ing feet  are  set — " 

"She  is  hopelessly  confused,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  without 
reading  to  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and  substituting  the 
word  ladder  for  dead  self.  "  Of  course,  I  see  what  she 
means,  the  different  stages  of  life,  the  infant,  the  boy, 
the  man,  but  hardly  any  one  else  will  so  understand  it." 

The  clock  struck  ten.  Mr.  Gusley  was  amazed.  The 
hour  had  seemed  like  ten  minutes. 

"  I  will  just  see  what  happens  in  the  next  chapter,"  he 
said.  And  he  did  not  hear  the  clock  when  it  struck  again. 
The  story  was  absorbing.  It  was  as  if  through  that  nar- 
row, shut-up  chamber  a  gust  of  mountain  air  were  sweep- 
ing like  a  breath  of  fresh  life.  Mr.  Gusley  was  vaguely 

258 


RED    POTTAGE 

stirred  in  spite  of  himself,  until  he  remembered  that  it 
was  all  fantastic,  visionary.  He  had  never  felt  like  that, 
and  his  own  experience  was  his  measure  of  the  utmost 
that  is  possible  in  human  nature.  He  would  have  called 
a  kettle  visionary  if  he  had  never  seen  one  himself.  It 
was  only  saved  from  that  reproach  by  the  fact  that  it 
hung  on  his  kitchen  hob.  What  was  so  unfair  about  him 
was  that  he  took  gorillas  and  alligators,  and  the  "  wart 
pig"  and  all  its  warts  on  trust,  though  he  had  never  seen 
them.  But  the  emotions  which  have  shaken  the  human 
soul  since  the  world  began,  long  before  the  first  "  wart 
pig"  was  thought  of — these  he  disbelieved. 

All  the  love  which  could  not  be  covered  by  his  own 
mild  courtship  of  the  obviously  grateful  Mrs.  Gusley,  Mr. 
Gusley  put  down  as  exaggerated.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  such  exaggeration  in  Hester's  book,  which  could  only 
be  attributed  to  the  French  novels  of  which  he  had  fre- 
quently expressed  his  disapproval  when  he  saw  Hester 
reading  them.  It  was  given  to  Mr.  Gusley  to  perceive 
that  the  French  classics  are  only  read  for  the  sake  of  the 
hideous  improprieties  contained  in  them.  He  had  ex- 
plained this  to  Hester,  and  was  indignant  that  she  had 
continued  to  read  them  just  as  frequently  as  before,  even 
translating  parts  of  some  of  them  into  English,  and  back 
again  into  the  original.  She  would  have  lowered  the 
Bishop  forever  in  his  Vicar's  eyes,  if  she  had  mentioned 
by  whose  advice  and  selection  she  read,  so  she  refrained. 

Suddenly,  as  he  read,  Mr.  Gusley's  face  softened.  He 
came  to  the  illness  and  death  of  a  child.  It  had  been 
written  long  before  Regie  fell  ill,  but  Mr.  Gusley  supposed 
it  could  only  have  been  the  result  of  what  had  happened  a 
few  weeks  ago  since  the  book  was  sent  up  to  the  publisher. 

Two  large  tears  fell  on  to  the  sheet.  Hester's  had  been 
there  before  them.  It  was  all  true,  every  word.  Here  was 
no  exaggeration,  no  fantastic  overcoloring  for  the  sake 
of  effect. 

" Ah,  Hester!"  he  said,  wiping  his  eyes.  "If  only  the 
rest  were  like  that.  If  you  would  only  write  like  that." 

259 


RED    POTTAGE 

A  few  pages  more,  and  his  eyes  were  like  flint.  The 
admirable  clergyman  who  had  attracted  him  from  the  first 
reappeared.  His  opinions  were  uncommonly  well  put. 
But  gradually  it  dawned  upon  Mr.  Gusley  that  the  cler- 
gyman was  toiling  in  very  uncomfortable  situations,  in 
which  he  did  not  appear  to  advantage.  Mr.  Gusley  did 
not  see  that  the  uncomfortable  situations  were  the  in- 
evitable result  of  holding  certain  opinions,  but  he  did  see 
that  "Hester  was  running  down  the  clergy."  Any  fault 
found  with  the  clergy  was  in  Mr.  Gusley's  eyes  an  attack 
upon  the  Church,  nay,  upon  religion  itself.  That  a  pro- 
test against  a  certain  class  of  the  clergy  might  be  the 
result  of  a  close  observation  of  the  causes  that  bring 
ecclesiastical  Christianity  into  disrepute  could  find  no 
admission  to  Mr.  Gusley's  mind.  Yet  a  protest  against 
the  ignorance  or  inefficiency  of  some  of  our  soldiers  he 
would  have  seen  without  difficulty  might  be  the  outcome, 
not  of  hatred  of  the  army,  but  of  a  realization  of  its  vast 
national  importance,  and  of  a  desire  of  its  well-being. 

Mr.  Gusley  was  outraged.  "  She  holds  nothing  sacred," 
he  said,  striking  the  book.  "I  told  her  after  the  Idyll, 
that  I  desired  she  would  not  mention  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion in  her  next  book,  and  this  is  worse  than  ever.  She 
has  entirely  disregarded  my  expressed  wishes.  Every- 
thing she  says  has  a  sting  in  it.  Look  at  this.  It  begins 
well,  but  it  ends  with  a  sneer." 

"  Christ  lives.  He  wanders  still  in  secret  over  the  hills 
and  the  valleys  of  the  soul,  that  little  kingdom  which 
should  not  be  of  this  world,  which  knows  not  the  things 
that  belong  unto  its  peace.  And  earlier  or  later  there 
comes  an  hour  when  Christ  is  arraigned  before  the  judg- 
ment bar  in  each  individual  soul.  Once  again  the  Church 
and  the  world  combine  to  crush  Him  who  stands  silent  in 
their  midst,  to  condemn  Him  who  has  already  condemned 
them.  Together  they  raise  their  fierce  cry, ( Crucify  Him ! 
Crucify  Him!'" 

Mr.  Gusley  tore  the  leaf  out  of  the  manuscript  and 
threw  it  in  the  fire. 

260 


RED  POTTA<;K 

But  worse  remained  behind.  To  add  to  its  other  sins, 
the  book,  now  drawing  to  its  close,  took  a  turn  which 
had  been  led  up  to  inevitably  step  by  step  from  the  first 
chapter,  but  which,  in  its  reader's  eyes,  who  perceived 
none  of  the  steps,  was  a  deliberate  gratuitous  intermed- 
dling with  vice.  Mr.  Gusley  could  not  help  reading,  but, 
as  he  laid  down  the  manuscript  for  a  moment  to  rest  his 
eyes,  he  felt  that  he  had  reached  the  limit  of  Hester's 
powers,  and  that  he  could  only  attribute  the  last  volume 
to  the  Evil  One  himself. 

He  had  hardly  paid  this  high  tribute  to  his  sister's 
talent  when  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Gusley  came  in  in 
a  wrapper  that  had  once  been  white. 

"Dear  James,"  she  said,  "is  anything  wrong?  It  is 
past  one  o'clock.  Are  you  never  coming  to  bed  ?" 

"Minna,"  said  her  pastor  and  master,  "I  have  been 
reading  the  worst  book  I  have  come  across  yet,  and  it  was 
written  by  my  own  sister  under  my  own  roof." 

He  might  have  added  "close  under  the  roof,"  if  he  had 
remembered  the  little  attic  chamber  where  the  cold  of 
winter  and  the  heat  of  summer  had  each  struck  in  turn 
and  in  vain  at  the  indomitable  perseverence  of  the  writer 
of  those  many  pages. 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  only  sin  which  we  never  forgive  in  each  other  is  difference 
of  opinion. — EMERSON. 

ME.  GUSLEY  was  troubled,  more  troubled  than  he  had 
ever  been  since  a  never-to-be-forgotten  period  before  his 
ordination,  when  he  had  come  in  contact  with  worldly 
minds,  and  had  had  doubts  as  to  the  justice  of  eternal 
punishment.  He  was  apt  to  speak  in  after  years  of  the 
furnace  through  which  he  had  passed,  and  from  which 
nothing  short  of  a  conversation  with  a  bishop  had  had 
power  to  save  him,  as  a  great  experience  which  he  could 
not  regret,  because  it  had  brought  him  into  sympathy 
with  so  many  minds.  As  he  often  said  in  his  favorite 
language  of  metaphor,  he  "had  threshed  out  the  whole 
subject  of  agnosticism,  and  could  consequently  meet  other 
minds  still  struggling  in  its  turbid  waves." 

But  now  again  he  was  deeply  perturbed,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  see  in  what  blessing  to  his  fellow-creatures  this 
particular  agitation  would  result.  He  walked  with  bent 
head  for  hours  in  the  garden.  He  could  not  attend  to 
his  sermon,  though  it  was  Friday.  He  entirely  forgot  his 
Bible-class  at  the  alms-houses  in  the  afternoon. 

Mrs.  G-usley  watched  him  from  her  bedroom  window, 
where  she  was  mending  the  children's  stockings.  At  last 
she  laid  aside  her  work  and  went  out. 

She  might  not  be  his  mental  equal.  She  might  be  un- 
able, with  her  small  feminine  mind,  to  fathom  the  depths 
and  heights  of  that  great  intelligence,  but  still  she  was  his 
wife.  Perhaps,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  it  troubled 
her  to  see  him  so  absorbed  in  his  sister,  for  she  was  sure 

262 


RED    POTTAGE 

it  was  of  Hester  and  her  book  that  he  was  thinking.  "I 
am  his  wife,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  joined  him  in 
silence,  and  passed  her  arm  through  his.  He  needed  to 
be  reminded  of  her  existence.  Mr.  Gusley  pressed  it, 
and  they  took  a  turn  in  silence. 

He  had  not  a  high  opinion  of  the  feminine  intellect. 
He  was  wont  to  say  that  he  was  tired  of  most  women  in 
ten  minutes.  But  he  had  learned  to  make  an  exception 
of  his  wife.  What  mind  does  not  feel  confidence  in  the 
sentiments  of  its  echo  ? 

"I  am  greatly  troubled  about  Hester,"  he  said  at  last. 

' '  It  is  not  a  new  trouble/'  said  Mrs.  Gusley.  "  I  some- 
times think,  dearest,  it  is  we  who  are  to  blame  in  having 
her  to  live  with  us.  She  is  worldly — I  suppose  she  can't 
help  it — and  we  are  unworldly.  She  is  irreligious,  and 
you  are  deeply  religious.  I  wish  I  could  say  I  was  too, 
but  I  lag  far  behind  you.  And  though  I  am  sure  she  does 
her  best — and  so  do  we — her  presence  is  a  continual  fric- 
tion. I  feel  she  always  drags  us  down." 

Mr.  Gusley  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts 
to  notice  the  diffident  plea  which  his  wife  was  putting  for- 
ward that  Hester  might  cease  to  live  with  them. 

f( I  was  not  thinking  of  that," he  said,  "so  much  as  of 
this  novel  which  she  has  written.  It  is  a  profane,  im- 
moral book,  and  will  do  incalculable  harm  if  it  is  pub- 
lished." 

"I  feel  sure  it  will,"  said  Mrs.'Gusley,  who  had  not  read 
it. 

"  It  is  dreadfully  coarse  in  places,"  continued  Mr.  Gus- 
ley, who  had  the  same  opinion  of  George  Eliot's  works. 
"  And  I  warned  Hester  most  solemnly  on  that  point  when 
I  found  she  had  begun  another  book.  I  told  her  that  I 
well  knew  that  to  meet  the  public  taste  it  was  necessary 
to  interlard  fiction  with  risque  things  in  order  to  make  it 
sell,  but  that  it  was  my  earnest  hope  she  would  in  future 
resist  this  temptation.  She  only  said  that  if  she  intro- 
duced improprieties  into  her  book  in  order  to  make 
money,  in  her  opinion  she  deserved  to  be  whipped  in  the 

263 


RED    POTTAGE 

public  streets.     She  was  very  angry,  I  remember,  and  be- 
came as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  I  dropped  the  subject." 

"  She  can't  bear  even  the  most  loving  word  of  advice," 
said  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"  She  holds  nothing  sacred,"  went  on  Mr.  Gusley,  re- 
membering an  unfortunate  incident  in  the  clergyman's 
career.  "  Her  life  here  seems  to  have  had  no  softening 
effect  upon  her.  She  sneers  openly  at  religion.  I  never 
thought,  I  never  allowed  myself  to  think,  that  she  was  so 
dead  to  spiritual  things  as  her  book  forces  me  to  believe. 
Even  her  good  people,  her  heroine,  have  not  a  vestige  of 
religion,  only  a  sort  of  vague  morality,  right  for  the  sake 
of  right,  and  love  teaching  people  things  nothing  real." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Hester  is  my  sister,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  ' f  and  I  am  fond 
of  her  in  spite  of  all,  and  she  has  no  one  to  look  to  for 
help  and  guidance  but  me.  I  am  her  only  near  relation. 
That  is  why  I  feel  so  much  the  way  she  disregards  all  I 
say.  She  does  not  realize  that  it  is  for  her  sake  I  speak." 

Mr.  Gusley  thought  he  was  sincere,  because  he  was 
touched. 

Mrs.  Gusley's  cheek  burned.  That  faithful,  devoted 
little  heart,  which  lived  only  for  her  husband  and  children, 
could  not  brook — what  9  That  her  priest  should  be  grieved 
and  disregarded  ?  Or  was  it  any  affection  for  and  interest 
in  another  woman  that  it  could  not  brook  ? 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "  to  for- 
bid her  most  solemnly  when  she  comes  back  to-morrow  to 
publish  that  book." 

"  She  does  not  come  back  to-morrow,  but  this  evening," 
said  the  young  wife  ;  and  pushed  by  some  violent,  nameless 
feeling  which  was  too  strong  for  her,  she  added,  "She 
will  not  obey  you.  When  has  she  ever  listened  to  what 
you  say  ?  She  will  laugh  at  you,  James.  She  always 
laughs  at  you.%  And  the  book  will  be  published  all  the 
same." 

"  It  shall  not,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  coloring  darkly.  "  I 
shall  not  allow  it." 

264 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  You  can't  prevent  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  her  breath 
coming  quickly.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  book  at  all, 
but  of  the  writer.  What  was  a  book,  one  more  or  one 
less  ?  It  was  her  duty  to  speak  the  truth  to  her  husband. 
His  sister,  whom  he  thought  so  much  of,  had  no  respect 
for  his  opinion,  and  he  ought  to  know  it.  Mr.  Gusley  did 
know  it,  but  he  felt  no  particular  satisfaction  in  his  wife's 
presentment  of  the  fact. 

"  It  is  no  use  saying  I  can't  prevent  it,"  he  said,  coldly, 
letting  his  arm  fall  by  his  side.  He  was  no  longer  thinking 
of  the  book  either,  but  of  the  disregard  of  his  opinion, 
nay,  of  his  authority  which  had  long  gravelled  him  in  his 
sister's  attitude  towards  him.  "  I  shall  use  my  authority 
when  I  see  fit,  and  if  I  have  so  far  used  persuasion  rather 
than  authority,  it  was  only  because,  in  my  humble  opinion, 
it  was  the  wisest  course." 

"  It  has  always  failed,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley>  stung  by  the 
slackening  of  his  arm.  Yes.  In  spite  of  the  new  baby, 
she  would  rather  have  a  hundred  a  year  less  than  have 
this  woman  in  the  house.  The  wife  ought  to  come  first. 
By  first,  Mrs.  Gusley  meant  without  a  second.  She  had 
this  morning  seen  Emma  laying  Hester's  clean  clothes  on 
her  bed,  just  returned  from  a  distant  washer-woman  whom 
the  Gusleys  did  not  employ,  and  whom  they  had  not 
wished  Hester  to  employ.  The  sight  of  those  two  white 
dressing-gowns,  beautifully  ( '  got  up  "  with  goffered  frills, 
had  aroused  afresh  in  Mrs.  Gusley,  what  she  believed  to 
be  indignation  at  Hester's  extravagance,  an  indignation 
which  had  been  increased  when  she  caught  sight  of  her 
own  untidy  wrapper  over  her  chair.  She  always  appeared 
to  disadvantage  in  Hester's  presence.  The  old  smoulder- 
ing grievance  about  the  washing  set  a  light  to  other  feel- 
ings. They  caught.  They  burned.  They  had  been  dry- 
ing in  the  oven  a  long  time. 

"It  has  always  failed,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  with  subdued 
passion,  "and  it  will  fail  again.  I  "heard  you  tell  Mrs. 
Loftus  that  you  would  never  let  Hester  publish  another 
book  like  the  Idyll.  But  though  you  say  this  one  is 

265 


RED    POTTAGE 

worse,  you  won't  be  able  to  stop  her.  You  will  see  when 
she  comes  back  that  she  will  pack  up  the  parcel  and  send 
it  back  to  the  publishers,  whatever  you  may  say." 

The  young  couple  were  so  absorbed  in  their  conversation 
that  they  had  not  observed  the  approach  of  a  tall,  clerical 
figure  whom  the  parlor-maid  was  escorting  towards  them. 

"I  saw  you  through  the  window,  and  I  said  I  would 
join  you  in  the  garden,"  said  Archdeacon  Thursby,  majes- 
tically. "  I  have  been  lunching  with  the  Pratts.  They 
naturally  wished  to  hear  the  details  of  the  lamented  death 
of  our  mutual  friend,  Lord  Newhaven." 

Archdeacon  Thursby  was  the  clergyman  who  had  been 
selected,  as  a  friend  of  Lady  Newhaven's,  to  break  to  her 
her  husband's  death. 

"It  seems,"  he  added,  "that  a  Miss  West,  who  was  at 
the  Abbey  at  the  time,  is  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Pratts." 

Mrs.  Gusley  slipped  away  to  order  tea,  the  silver  tea- 
pot, etc. 

The  Archdeacon  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Gusley's.  Mr. 
'Gusley  had  not  many  friends  among  the  clergy,  possibly 
because  he  always  attributed  the  popularity  of  any  of  his 
brethren  to  a  laxity  of  principle  on  their  part,  or  their 
success,  if  they  did  succeed,  to  the  peculiarly  easy  circum- 
stances in  which  they  were  placed.  But  he  greatly  admired 
the  Archdeacon,  and  made  no  secret  of  the  fact,  that  in  his 
opinion,  he  ought  to  have  been  the  Bishop  of  the  diocese. 

A  long  conversation  now  ensued  on  clerical  matters,  and 
Mr.  Gusley's  drooping  spirits  revived  under  a  refreshing 
douche  of  compliments  on  "Modern  Dissent." 

The  idea  flashed  across  his  mind  of  asking  the  Arch- 
deacon's advice  regarding  Hester's  book.  His  opinion 
carried  weight.  His  remarks  on  "Modern  Dissent" 
showed  how  clear,  how  statesmanlike  his  judgment  was. 
Mr.  Gusley  decided  to  lay  the  matter  before  him,  and  to 
consult  him  as  to  his  responsibility  in  the  matter.  The 
Archdeacon  did  not  know  Hester.  He  did  not  know — 
for  he  lived  at  a  distance  of  several  miles — that  Mr.  Gus- 
ley had  a  sister  who  had  written  a  book. 

266 


RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  Gusley  did  not  wish  him  to  become  aware  of  this 
last  fact,  for  we  all  keep  our  domestic  skeletons  in  their 
cupboards,  so  he  placed  a  hypothetical  case  before  his 
friend. 

Supposing  some  one  he  knew,  a  person  for  whose  actions 
he  felt  himself  partly  responsible,  had  written  a  most  un- 
wise letter,  and  this  letter,  by  no  fault  of  Mr.  Gusley's, 
had  fallen  into  his  hands  and  been  read  by  him.  What 
was  he,  Mr.  Gusley,  to  do  ?  The  letter,  if  posted,  would 
certainly  get  the  writer  into  trouble,  and  would  cause 
acute  humiliation  to  the  writer's  family.  What  would  the 
Archdeacon  do,  in  his  place  ? 

Mr.  Gusley  did  not  perceive  that  the  hypothetical  case 
was  not  "  on  all  fours  "  with  the  real  one.  His  first  im- 
pulse had  been  to  gain  the  opinion  of  an  expert  without 
disclosing  family  dissensions.  Did  some  unconscious 
secondary  motive  impel  him  to  shape  the  case  so  that  only 
one  verdict  was  probable  ? 

The  good  Archdeacon  ruminated,  asked  a  few  questions, 
then  said,  without  hesitation  : 

"I  cannot  see  your  difficulty.  Your  course  is  clear. 
You  are  responsible — " 

"  To  a  certain  degree." 

"  To  a  certain  degree  for  the  action  of  an  extremely 
injudicious  friend  or  relation  who  writes  a  letter  which 
will  get  him  and  others  into  trouble.  It  providentially 
falls  into  your  hands.  If  I  were  in  your  place  I  should 
destroy  it,  inform  your  friend  that  I  had  done  so  princi- 
pally for  his  own  sake,  and  endeavor  to  bring  him  to  a 
better  mind  on  the  subject/' 

"  Supposing  the  burning  of  the  letter  entailed  a  money 

loss  r  ' 

"  I  judge  from  what  you  say  of  this  particular  letter 
that  any  money  that  accrued  from  it  would  be  ill-gotten 
gains." 

"Oh  I  decidedly." 

' f  Then  burn  it ;  and  if  your  friend  remains  obstinate  he 
can  always  write  it  again ;  but  we  must  hope  that  by  gain- 

267 


RED    POTTAGE 

ing  time  you  will  be  able  to  arouse  his  better  feelings,  and 
at  least  induce  him  to  moderate  its  tone." 

"01  course  he  could  write  it  again  if  he  remains  obsti- 
nate. I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  So  he  would  not  eventually  lose  the  money  if  he 
was  still  decided  to  gain  it  in  an  unscrupulous  manner. 
Or  I  could  help  him  to  rewrite  it.  I  never  thought  of 
that  before." 

"  Your  course  is  perfectly  clear,  my  dear  Gusley,"  said 
the  Archdeacon,  not  impatiently,  but  as  one  who  is  ready 
to  open  up  a  new  subject.  "Your  tender  conscience 
alone  makes  the  difficulty.  Is  not  Mrs.  Gusley  endeavor- 
ing to  attract  our  attenton  ?" 

Mrs.  Gusley  was  beckoning  them  in  to  tea. 

When  the  Archdeacon  had  departed,  Mr.  Gusley  said  to 
his  wife:  "I  have  talked  over  the  matter  with  him,  not 
mentioning  names,  of  course.  He  is  a  man  of  great  judg- 
ment. He  advises  me  to  burn  it." 

"Hester's  book?" 

"Yes." 

"He  is  quite  right,  I  think/'  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  her 
hands  trembling,  as  she  took  up  her  work.  Hester  would 
never  forgive  her  brother  if  he  did  that.  It  would  cer- 
tainly cause  a  quarrel  between  them.  Young  married 
people  did  best  without  a  third  person  in  the  house. 

"  Will  you  follow  his  advice  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I — you  see — poor  Hester! — it  has 
taken  her  a  long  time  to  write.  I  wish  to  goodness  she 
would  leave  writing  alone." 

"  She  is  coming  home  this  evening,"  said  his  wife,  sig- 
nificantly. 

Mr.  Gusley  abruptly  left  the  room,  and  went  back  to 
his  study.  He  was  irritated,  distressed. 

Pro-vidence  seemed  to  have  sent  the  Archdeacon  to  ad- 
vise him.  And  the  Archdeacon  had  spoken  with  decision. 
"Burn  it,"  that  was  what  he  had  said,  "and  tell  your 
friend  that  you  have  done  so." 

It  did  not  strike  Mr.  Gusley  that  the  advice  might  have 

268 


RED    POTTAGE 

been  somewhat  different  if  the  question  had  been  respect- 
ing the  burning  of  a  book  instead  of  a  letter.  Such  subtle- 
ties had  never  been  allowed  to  occupy  Mr.  Gusley's  mind. 
He  was,  as  he  often  said,  no  splitter  of  hairs. 

He  told  himself  that  from  the  very  first  moment  of  con- 
sulting him  he  had  dreaded  that  the  Archdeacon  would 
counsel  exactly  as  he  had  done.  Mr.  Gnsley  stood  a  long 
time  in  silent  prayer  by  his  study  window.  If  his  prayers 
took  the  same  bias  as  his  recent  statements  to  his  friend, 
was  that  his  fault  ?  If  he  silenced,  as  a  sign  of  cow- 
ardice, a  voice  within  him  which  entreated  for  delay, 
was  that  his  fault  ?  If  he  had  never  educated  himself  to 
see  any  connection  between  a  seed  and  a  plant,  a  cause  and 
a  result,  was  that  his  fault  ?  The  first  seedling  impulse  to 
destroy  the  book  was  buried  and  forgotten.  If  he  mistook 
this  towering,  full-grown  determination  which  had  sprung 
from  it  for  the  will  of  God,  the  direct  answer  to  prayer, 
was  that  his  fault  ? 

As  his  painful  duty  became  clear  to  him,  a  thin  veil  of 
smoke  drifted  across  the  little  lawn. 

Regie  came  dancing  and  caracoling  round  the  corner. 

"Father  !"  he  cried,  rushing  to  the  window,  "Abel  has 
made  such  a  bonfire  in  the  back-yard,  and  he  is  burning 
weeds  and  all  kinds  of  things,  and  he  has  given  us  each  a 
'  'tato '  to  bake,  and  Fraulein  has  given  us  a  band-box  she 
did  not  want,  and  we've  filled  it  full  of  dry  leaves.  And 
do  you  think  if  we  wait  a  little  Auntie  Hester  will  be  back 
in  time  to  see  it  burn  ?" 

It  was  a  splendid  bonfire.  It  leaped.  It  rose  and  fell. 
It  was  replenished.  Something  alive  in  the  heart  of  it 
died  hard.  The  children  danced  round  it. 

"Oh,  if  only  Auntie  Hester  was  here  I"  said  Regie,  clap- 
ping his  hands  as  the  flame  soared. 

But  "Auntie  Hester"  was  too  late  to  see  it. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

And  we  are  punished  for  our  purest  deeds, 

And  chasten'd  for  our  holiest  thoughts;  alas! 

There  is  no  reason  found  in  all  the  creeds, 

Why  these  things  are,  nor  whence  they  come  to  pass. 

— OWEN  MEREDITH. 

IT  was  while  Hester  was  at  the  Palace  that  Lord  New- 
haven  died.  She  had  perhaps  hardly  realized,  till  he  was 
gone,  how  much  his  loyal  friendship  had  heen  to  her. 
Yet  she  had  hardly  seen  him  for  the  last  year,  partly  be- 
cause she  was  absorbed  in  her  book,  and  partly  because, 
to  her  astonishment,  she  found  that  her  brother  and  his 
wife  looked  coldly  upon  "  an  unmarried  woman  receiving 
calls  from  a  married  man." 

For  in  the  country  individuality  has  not  yet  emerged. 
People  are  married  or  they  are  unmarried — that  is  all. 
Just  as  in  London  they  are  agreeable  or  dull — that  is  all. 

"Since  I  have  been  at  Warpington,"  Hester  said  to 
Lord  Newhaven  one  day,  the  last  time  he  found  her  in, 
"  I  have  realized  that  I  am  unmarried.  I  never 
thought  of  it  all  the  years  I  lived  in  London,  but  when  I 
visit  among  the  country  people  here,  as  I  drive  through 
the  park,  I  remember,  with  a  qualm,  that  I  am  a  spinster, 
no  doubt  because  I  can't  help  it.  As  I  enter  the  hall  I 
recall,  with  a  pang,  that  I  am  eight-and-twenty.  By  the 
time  I  am  in  the  drawing-room  I  am  an  old  maid." 

She  had  always  imagined  she  would  take  up  her  friend- 
ship with  him  again,  and  when  he  died  she  reproached 
herself  for  having  temporarily  laid  it  aside.  Perhaps  no 
one,  except  Lord  Newhaven's  brothers,  felt  his  death 
more  than  Dick  and  Hester  and  the  Bishop.  The  Bishop 

270 


RED    POTTAGE 

had  sincerely  liked  Lord  Newhaven.  A  certain  degree  of 
friendship  had  existed  between  the  two  men,  which  had 
often  trembled  on  the  verge  of  intimacy.  But  the  verge 
had  never  been  crossed.  It  was  the  younger  man  who  al- 
ways drew  back.  The  Bishop,  with  the  instinct  of  the 
true  priest,  had  an  unshaken  belief  in  his  cynical  neighbor. 
Lord  Newhaven,  who  trusted  no  one,  trusted  the  Bishop. 
They  might  have  been  friends.  But  there  was  a  deeper 
reason  for  grief  at  his  death  than  any  sense  of  personal 
loss.  The  Bishop  was  secretly  convinced  that  he  had  died 
by  his  own  hand. 

Lord  Newhaven  had  come  to  see  him,  the  night  he  left 
Westhope,  on  his  way  to  the  station.  He  had  only  stayed 
a  few  minutes,  and  had  asked  him  to  do  him  a  trifling 
service.  The  older  man  had  agreed,  had  seen  a  momen- 
tary hesitation  as  Lord  Newhaven  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  and  had  forgotten  the  incident  immediately  in  the 
press  of  continuous  business.  But  with  the  news  of  his 
death  the  remembrance  of  that  momentary  interview  re- 
turned, and  with  it  the  instant  conviction  that  that  acci- 
dental death  had  been  carefully  planned. 

And  now  Hester's  visit  at  the  Palace  had  come  to  an 
end,  and  the  Bishop's  carriage  was  taking  her  back  to 
Warpington. 

The  ten  days  at  Southminster  had  brought  a  little  color 
back  to  her  thin  cheeks,  a  little  calmness  to  her  glance. 
She  had  experienced  the  rest — better  than  sleep — of  being 
understood,  of  being  able  to  say  what  she  thought  with- 
out fear  of  giving  offence.  The  Bishop's  hospitality  had 
been  extended  to  her  mind,  instead  of  stopping  short  at 
the  menu. 

Her  hands  were  full  of  chrysanthemums  which  the 
Bishop  had  picked  for  her  himself;  her  small  head  full  of 
his  parting  words  and  counsel. 

Yes,  she  would  do  as  he  so  urgently  advised,  give  up 
the  attempt  to  live  at  AVarpington.  She  had  been  there 
a  whole  year.  If  the  project  had  failed,  as  he  seemed  to 

271 


RED    POTTAGE 

think  it  had,  at  any  rate,  it  had  been  given  a  fair  trial. 
Both  sides  had  done  their  best.  She  might  ease  money 
matters  later  for  her  brother  by  laying  by  part  of  the  pro- 
ceeds of  this  book  for  Regie's  schooling.  She  could  see 
that  the  Bishop  thought  highly  of  the  book.  He  had 
read  it  before  it  was  sent  to  the  publisher.  While  she 
was  at  the  Palace  he  had  asked  her  to  reconsider  one  or 
two  passages  in  it  which  he  thought  might  give  needless 
offence  to  her  brother  and  others  of  his  mental  calibre, 
and  she  had  complied  at  once,  and  had  sent  for  the 
book.  No  doubt  she  should  find  it  at  Warpingtori  on  her 
return. 

When  it  was  published  she  should  give  Minna  a  new 
sofa  for  the  drawing-room,  and  Fraulein  a  fur  boa  and 
muff,  and  Miss  Brown  a  type-writer  for  her  G.F.S.  work, 
and  Abel  a  barometer,  and  each  of  the  servants  a  new 
gown,  and  James  those  four  enormous  volumes  of  Pusey 
for  which  his  soul  yearned.  And  what  should  she  give 
Rachel — dear  Rachel  ?  Ah  !  What  need  to  give  her  any- 
thing ?  The  book  itself  was  hers.  Was  it  not  dedicated 
to  her  ?  And  she  would  make  her  home  with  Rachel  for 
the  present,  as  the  Bishop  advised,  as  Rachel  had  so 
urgently  begged  her  to  do. 

"  And  we  will  go  abroad  together  after  Christmas  as 
she  suggests,"  said  Hester  to  herself.  "We  will  go  to 
Maderia,  or  one  of  those  warm  places  where  one  can  sit 
like  a  cat  in  the  sun,  and  do  nothing,  nothing,  nothing, 
from  morning  till  night.  I  used  to  be  so  afraid  of  going 
back  to  Warpington,  but  now  that  the  time  is  coming  to 
an  end  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  irritate  them  so  much. 
And  Minna  will  be  glad.  One  can  always  manage  if  it  is 
only  for  a-  fixed  time.  And  they  shall  not  be  the  losers 
by  my  leaving  them.  I  will  put  by  the  money  for  my 
little  Regie.  I  shall  feel  parting  with  him." 

The  sun  was  setting  as  she  reached  Warpington.  All 
was  gray,  the  church  tower,  the  trees,  the  pointed  gables 
of  the  Vicarage,  set  small  together,  as  in  a  Christmas  card, 
against  the  still,  red  sky.  It  only  needed  "Peace  and  Good- 

273 


RED    POTTAGE 

will "  and  a  robin  in  the  foreground  to  be  complete.  The 
stream  was  the  only  thing  that  moved,  with  its  shimmer- 
ing mesh  of  fire-tipped  ripples  fleeing  into  the  darkness  of 
the  reeds.  The  little  bridge,  so  vulgar  in  every-day  life, 
leaned  a  mystery  of  darkness  over  a  mystery  of  light.  The 
white  frost  held  the  meadows,  and  binding  them  to  the 
gray  house  and  church  and  bare  trees  was  a  thin  floating 
ribbon  of — was  it  mist  or  smoke  ?  In  her  own  window  a 
faint  light  wavered.  They  had  lit  a  fire  in  her  room. 
Hester's  heart  warmed  to  her  sister-in-law  at  that  little 
token  of  care  and  welcome.  Minna  should  have  all  her 
flowers,  except  one  small  bunch  for  Fraulein.  In  another 
moment  she  was  ringing  the  bell,  and  Emma's  smiling  red 
face  appeared  behind  the  glass  door. 

Hester  ran  past  her  into  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Gusley  was  sitting  near  the  fire  with  the  old  baby  beside 
her.  She  returned  Hester's  kiss  somewhat  nervously. 
She  looked  a  little  frightened. 

The  old  baby,  luxuriously  seated  in  his  own  little  arm- 
chair, rose,  and  holding  it  firmly  against  his  small  person 
to  prevent  any  disconnection  with  it,  solemnly  crossed  the 
hearth-rug,  and  placed  the  chair  with  himself  in  it  by 
Hester. 

"  You  would  like  some  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley.  "  It  is 
choir  practice  this  evening,  and  we  don't  have  supper  till 
nine." 

But  Hester  had  had  tea  before  she  started. 

"  And  you  are  not  cold  ?" 

Hester  was  quite  warm.  The  Bishop  had  ordered  a 
foot-warmer  in  the  carriage  for  her. 

"You  are  looking  much  better." 

Hester  felt  much  better,  thanks. 

"  And  what  lovely  flowers !" 

Hester  suggested,  with  diffidence,  that  they  would  look 
pretty  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  who  had  thought  the  same 
till  that  instant,  "that  they  would  look  best  in  the 
hall." 

s  273 


RED    POTTAGE 

"And  the  rest  of  the  family/'  said  Hester,  whose  face 
had  fallen  a  little.  "  Where  are  they  ?" 

"The  children  have  just  come  in.  They  will  be  down 
directly.  Come  back  to  me,  Toddy ;  you  are  boring  your 
aunt.  And  James  is  in  his  study." 

"Is  he  busy,  or  may  I  go  in  and  speak  to  him  ?" 

"  He  is  not  busy.     He  is  expecting  you." 

Hester  gathered  up  her  rejected  flowers  and  rose.  She 
felt  as  if  she  had  been  back  at  Warpington  a  year — as  if 
she  had  never  been  away. 

She  stopped  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  look  at  her  letters, 
and  laid  down  her  flowers  beside  them.  Then  she  went 
on  quickly  to  the  study,  and  tapped  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  well-known  voice. 

Mr.  Gusley  was  found  writing.  Hester  instantly  per- 
ceived that  it  was  a  pose,  and  that  he  had  taken  up  the 
pen  when  he  heard  her  tap. 

Her  spirits  sank  a  peg  lower. 

"  He  is  going  to  lecture  me  about  something,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  he  kissed  her. 

"  Have  you  had  tea  ?  It  is  choir  practice  this  evening, 
and  we  don't  have  supper  till  nine." 

Hester  had  had  tea  before  she  started. 

"And  you  are  not  cold  ?" 

On  the  contrary,  Hester  was  quite  warm,  thanks. 
Bishop,  foot-warmer,  etc. 

"You  are  looking  much  stronger." 

Hester  felt  much  stronger.  Certainly  married  people 
grew  very  much  alike  by  living  together. 

Mr.  Gusley  hesitated.  He  never  saw  the  difficulties 
entailed  by  any  action  until  they  were  actually  upon  him. 
He  had  had  no  idea  he  would  find  it  wellnigh  impossible 
to  open  a  certain  subject. 

Hester  involuntarily  came  to  his  assistance. 

"Well,  perhaps  I  ought  to  look  at  my  letters.  By  the 
way,  there  ought  to  be  a  large  package  for  me  from 
Bentham.  It  was  not  with  my  letters.  Perhaps  you  sent 
it  to  my  room." 

274 


RED    POTTAGE 

" It  did  arrive/'  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "and  perhaps  I  ought 
to  apologize,  for  I  saw  my  name  on  it  and  I  opened  it  by 
mistake.  I  was  expecting  some  more  copies  of  my  Modern 
Dissent. 

(<  It  does  not  matter.  I  have  no  doubt  you  put  it  away 
safely.  Where  is  it  ?" 

"  Having  opened  it,  I  glanced  at  it." 

"I  am  surprised  to  hear  that,"  said  Hester,  a  pink  spot 
appearing  on  each  cheek,  and  her  eyes  darkening.  ' '  When 
did  I  give  you  leave  to  read  it  ?" 

Mr.  Gusley  looked  dully  at  his  sister,  and  went  on  with- 
out noticing  her  question. 

"  I  glanced  at  it.  I  do  not  see  any  difference  between 
reading  a  book  in  manuscript  or  in  print.  I  don't  pretend 
to  quibble  on  a  point  like  that.  After  looking  at  it,  I  felt 
that  it  was  desirable  I  should  read  the  whole.  You  may 
remember,  Hester,  that  I  showed  you  my  Modern  Dissent. 
If  I  did  not  make  restrictions,  why  should  you  ?" 

"The  thing  is  done,"  said  Hester.  "I  did  not  wish 
you  to  read  it,  and  you  have  read  it.  It  can't  be  helped. 
We  won't  speak  of  it  again." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  speak  of  it." 

Hester  made  an  impatient  movement. 

"But  it  is  not  mine  to  listen,"  she  said.  "Besides,  I 
know  all  you  are  going  to  say — the  same  as  about  The 
Idyll,  only  worse.  That  it  is  coarse  and  profane  and  ex- 
aggerated, and  that  I  have  put  in  improprieties  in  order 
to  make  it  sell,  and  that  I  run  down  the  clergy,  and  that 
the  book  ought  never  to  be  published.  Dear  James,  spare 
me.  You  and  I  shall  never  agree  on  certain  subjects. 
Let  us  be  content  to  differ." 

Mr.  Gusley  was  disconcerted.  Your  antagonist  has  no 
business  to  discount  all  you  were  going  to  remark  by  say- 
ing it  first. 

His  color  was  gradually  leaving  him.  This  was  worse 
than  an  Easter  vestry  meeting,  and  that  was  saying  a  good 
deal. 

"  I  cannot  stand  by  calmly  and  see  you  walk  over  a 

275 


RED    POTTAGE 

precipice  if  I  can  forcibly  hold  you  back,"  he  said.  "I 
think,  Hester,  you  forget  that  it  is  my  affection  for  you 
that  makes  me  try  to  restrain  you.  It  is" for  your  own 
sake  that — that — " 

"  That  what  ?"  / 

"  That  I  cannot  allow  this  book  to  be  published,"  said 
Mr.  Gusley,  in  a  low  voice.  He  hardly  ever  lowered  his 
voice. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Hester  felt  the  situation 
was  serious.  How  not  to  wound  him,  yet  not  to  yield  ? 

"I  am  eight-and-twenty,"  she  said.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
must  follow  my  own  judgment.  You  have  no  responsi- 
bility in  the  matter.  If  I  am  blamed,"  she  smiled  proud- 
ly— at  that  instant  she  knew  all  that  her  book  was  worth — 
"  the  blame  will  not  attach  to  you.  And,  after  all,  Minna 
and  the  Pratts  and  the  Thursbys  need  not  read  it." 

"No  one  will  read  it,"  said  Mr.  Gusley.  "It  was  a 
profane,  wicked  book.  No  one  will  read  it." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Hester. 

The  brother  and  sister  looked  at  each  other  with  eyes 
of  flint. 

"No  one  will  read  it,"  repeated  Mr.  Gusley — he  was 
courageous,  but  all  his  courage  was  only  just  enough — 
"  because,  for  your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  in- 
nocent minds  which  might  be  perverted  by  it,  I  have — I 
have — burned  it." 

Hester  stood  motionless,  like  one  struck  by  lightning, 
livid,  dead  already — all  but  the  eyes. 

"You  dared  not,"  said  the  dead  lips.  The  terrible 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him.  They  burned  into  him. 

He  was  frightened. 

"Dear  Hester,"  he  said,  "I  will  help  you  to  rewrite  it. 
I  will  give  up  an  hour  every  morning  till — "  Would  she 
never  fall  ?  Would  she  always  stand  up  like  that  ? 
"  Some  day  you  will  know  I  was  right  to  do  it.  You  are 
angry  now,  but  some  day — "  If  she  would  only  faint,  or 
cry,  or  look  away. 

"  When  Regie  was  ill,"  said  the  slow,  difficult  voice,  "  I 

276 


RED    POTTAGE 

did  what  I  could.  I  did  not  let  your  child  die.  Why 
have  yon  killed  mine  ?" 

There  was  a  little  patter  of  feet  in  the  passage.  The 
door  was  slowly  opened  by  Mary,  and  Regie  walked  sol- 
emnly in,  holding  with  extreme  care  a  small  tin-plate,  on 
which  reposed  a  large  potato. 

"I  baked  it  for  you,  Auntie  Hester,"  he  said,  in  his 
shrill  voice,  his  eyes  on  the  offering.  "  It  was  my  very 
own  'tato  Abel  gave  me.  And  I  baked  it  in  the  bonfire 
and  kept  it  for  you." 

Hester  turned  upon  the  child  like  some  blinded,  infuri- 
ated animal  at  bay,  and  thrust  him  violently  from  her. 
He  fell  shrieking.  She  rushed  past  him  out  of  the  room, 
and  out  of  the  house,  his  screams  following  her.  "I've 
killed  him,"  she  said. 

The  side  gate  was  locked.  Abel  had  just  left  for  the 
night.  She  tore  it  off  its  hinges  and  ran  into  the  back- 
yard. 

The  bonfire  was  out.  A  thread  of  smoke  twisted  up 
from  the  crater  of  gray  ashes.  She  fell  on  her  knees  be- 
side the  dead  fire,  and  thrust  apart  the  hot  ashes  with  her 
bare  hands. 

A  mass  of  thin  black  films  that  had  once  been  paper 
met  her  eyes.  The  small  writing  on  them  was  plainly 
visible  as  they  fell  to  dust  at  the  touch  of  her  hands. 

"It  is  dead/7  she  said  in  a  loud  voice,  getting  up.  Her 
gown  was  burned  through  where  she  had  knelt  down. 

In  the  still  air  a  few  flakes  of  snow  were  falling  in  a  great 
compassion. 

"  Quite  dead/'  said  Hester.     "  Regie  and  the  book." 

And  she  set  off  running  blindly  across  the  darkening 
fields. 

It  was  close  on  eleven  o'clock.  The  Bishop  was  sitting 
alone  in  his  study  writing.  The  night  was  very  still.  The 
pen  travelled,  travelled.  The  fire  had  burned  down  to  a 
red  glow.  Presently  he  got  up,  walked  to  the  window, 
and  drew  aside  the  curtain. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  The  first  snow/'  he  said,  half  aloud. 

It  was  coming  down  gently,  through  the  darkness.  He 
could  just  see  the  white  rim  on  the  stone  sill  outside. 

' '  I  can  do  no  more  to-night,"  he  said,  and  he  bent  to 
lock  his  despatch-box  with  the  key  on  his  watch-chain. 

The  door  suddenly  opened.  He  turned  to  see  a  little 
figure  rush  towards  him,  and  fall  at  his  feet,  holding  him 
convulsively  by  the  knees. 

"Hester!"  he  said,  in  amazement.     "  Hester!" 

She  was  bareheaded.  The  snow  was  upon  her  hair  and 
shoulders.  She  brought  in  the  smell  of  fire  with  her. 

He  tried  to  raise  her,  but  she  held  him  tightly  with  her 
bleeding  hands,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  convulsed  face. 
His  own  hands  were  red,  as  he  vainly  tried  to  loosen  hers. 

"They  have  killed  my  book,"  she  said.  "They  have 
killed  my  book.  They  burned  it  alive  when  I  was  away. 
And  my  head  went.  I  don't  know  what  I  did,  but  I 
think  I  killed  Regie.  I  know  I  meant  to." 


CHAPTER  XLII 
"Is  it  well  with  the  child?" 

"  I  AM  not  really  anxious/'  said  Mr.  Gusley,  looking  out 
across  the  Vicarage  laurels  to  the  white  fields  and  hedges. 
All  was  blurred  and  vague  and  very  still.  The  only  thing 
that  had  a  distinct  outline  was  the  garden  railing,  with  a 
solitary  rook  on  it. 

"  I  am  not  really  anxious/'  he  said  again,  sitting  down 
at  the  breakfast-table.  But  his  face  contradicted  him.  It 
was  blue  and  pinched,  for  he  had  just  returned  from  read- 
ing the  morning  service  to  himself  in  an  ice-cold  church, 
but  there  was  a  pucker  in  the  brow  that  was  not  the  result 
of  cold.  The  Vicarage  porch  had  fallen  down  in  the 
night,  but  he  was  evidently  not  thinking  of  that.  He 
drank  a  little  coffee,  and  then  got  up  and  walked  to  the 
window  again. 

"  She  is  with  the  Pratts,"  he  said,  with  decision.  <e  I 
am  glad  I  sent  a  note  over  early,  if  it  will  relieve  your 
mind,  but  I  am  convinced  she  is  with  the  Pratts." 

Mrs.  Gusley  murmured  something.  She  looked  scared. 
She  made  an  attempt  to  eat  something,  but  it  was  a  mere 
pretence. 

The  swing  door  near  the  back  staircase  creaked.  In  the 
Vicarage  you  could  hear  everything. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley  looked  eagerly  at  the  door.  The 
parlor-maid  came  in  with  a  note  between  her  finger  and 
thumb. 

"She  is  not  there/'  said  Mr.  Gusley,  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"  I  wrote  Mr.  Pratt  such  a  guarded  letter,  saying  Hester 
had  imprudently  run  across  to  see  them  on  her  return 

279 


RED    POTTAGE 

home,  and  how  grateful  I  was  to  Mrs.  Pratt  for  not  allow- 
ing her  to  return,  as  it  had  begun  to  snow.  He  says  he 
and  Mrs.  Pratt  have  not  seen  her/' 

"  James,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  e '  where  is  she  ?" 

A  second  step  shuffled  across  the  hall,  and  Fraulein 
stood  in  the  door-way.  Her  pale  face  was  drawn  with  anx- 
iety. In  both  hands  she  clutched  a  trailing  skirt  plas- 
tered with  snow,  hitched  above  a  pair  of  large  goloshed 
feet,  into  which  the  legs  were  grafted  without  ankles. 

"  She  has  not  return  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "and  she  is  not  with  the 
Pratts." 

"  I  know  always  she  is  not  wiz  ze  Pratts/'  said  Fraulein, 
scornfully.  "  She  never  go  to  Pratt  if  she  is  in  grief.  I 
go  out  at  half  seven  this  morning  to  ze  Br-r-rowns,  but 
Miss  Br-r-rown  know  nozing.  I  go  to  Wilcjerleigh,  I  see 
Mrs.  Loftus  still  in  bed,  but  she  is  not  there.  I  go  to 
Evannses,  I  go  to  Smeeth,  I  go  last  to  Mistair  Valsh,  but 
she  is  not  there." 

Mr.  Gusley  began  to  experience  something  of  what 
Fraulein  had  been  enduring  all  night. 

"  She  would  certainly  not  go  from  my  house  to  a  Dis- 
senter's," he  said,  stiffly.  "  You  might  have  saved  yourself 
the  trouble  of  calling  there,  Fraulein." 

"  She  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Valsh.  She  gives  them  her 
book." 

Fraulein's  voice  drowned  the  muffled  rumbling  of  a  car- 
riage and  a  ring  at  the  bell,  the  handle  of  which,  unin- 
jured amid  the  chaos,  kept  watch  above  the  remains  of  the 
late  porch. 

The  Bishop  stood  a  moment  in  the  little  hall,  while  the 
maid  went  into  the  dining-room  to  tell  the  Gusleys  of  his 
arrival.  His  eyes  rested  on  the  pile  of  letters  on  the  table, 
on  the  dead  flowers  beside  them.  They  had  been  so  beau- 
tiful yesterday  when  he  gave  them  to  Hester.  Hester 
herself  had  been  so  pretty  yesterday. 

The  maid  came  back  and  asked  him  to  "step"  into  the 
dining-room. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley  had  risen  from  their  chairs.  Their 
eyes  were  fixed  anxiously  upon  him.  Fraulein  gave  a  lit- 
tle shriek  and  rushed  at  him. 

"  She  is  viz  you  ?"  she  gasped,  shaking  him  by  the  arm. 
•  "  She  is  with  me,"  said  the  Bishop,  looking  only  at 
Fraulein,  and  taking  her  shaking  hands  in  his. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  and  Mrs.  Gusley  sat 
down  and  began  to  cry. 

Some  of  the  sternness  melted  out  of  the  Bishop's  face  as 
he  looked  at  the  young  couple. 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could/7  he  said.  "  I  started  soon 
after  seven,  but  the  roads  are  heavy." 

"  This  is  a  great  relief/'  said  Mr.  Gusley.  He  began  on 
his  deepest  organ  note,  but  it  quavered  quite  away  on  the 
word  relief  for  want  of  wind. 

"  How  is  Regie  ?"  said  the-  Bishop.  It  was  his  turn  to 
be  anxious. 

"  Regie  is  verr  veil/'  said  Fraulein,  with  decision.  ' '  Tell 
her  he  is  so  veil  as  he  vas." 

"  He  is  very  much  shaken/'  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  indignant 
mother-love  flashing  in  her  wet  eyes.  "  He  is  a  delicate 
child,  and  she,  Hester — may  God  forgive  her ! — struck  him 
in  one  of  her  passions.  She  might  have  killed  him.  And 
the  poor  child  fell  and  bruised  his  arm  and  shoulder. 
And  he  was  bringing  her  a  little  present  when  she  did  it. 
The  child  had  done  nothing  whatever  to  annoy  her,  had 
he,  James  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  and  his  conscience  prick- 
ing him,  he  added,  "I  must  own  Hester  had  always 
seemed  fond  of  Regie  till  last  night." 

He  felt  that  it  would  not  be  entirely  fair  to  allow  the 
Bishop  to  think  that  Hester  was  in  the  habit  of  maltreat- 
ing the  children. 

"  I  have  told  him  that  his  own  mother  will  take  care  of 
him,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  "  and  that  he  need  not  be  afraid, 
his  aunt  shall  never  come  back  again.  When  I  saw  his 
little  arm  I  felt  I  could  never  trust  Hester  in  the  house 
again."  As  Mrs.  Gusley  spoke  she  felt  she  was  making 

281 


RED    POTTAGE 

certainty  doubly  sure  that  the  woman  of  whom  she  was 
jealous  would  return  no  more. 

"Regie  cry  till  his  'ead  ache  because  you  say  Miss  Gus- 
ley  no  come  back,"  said  Fraulein,  looking  at  Mrs.  Gusley, 
as  if  she  would  have  bitten  a  piece  out  of  her. 

"  I  think,  Fraulein,  it  is  the  children's  lesson-time," 
said  Mr.  Gusley,  majestically. 

Who  could  have  imagined  that  unobtrusive,  submissive 
Fraulein,  gentlest  and  shyest  of  women,  would  put  herself 
forward  in  this  aggressive  manner.  The  truth  is,  it  is  all 
very  well  to  talk,  you  never  can  tell  what  people  will  do. 
They  suddenly  turn  round  and  act  exactly  opposite  to 
their  whole  previous  character.  Look  at  Fraulein  ! 

That  poor  lady,  recalled  thus  to  a  sense  of  duty,  hurried 
from  the  room,  and  the  Bishop,  who  had  opened  the  door 
for  her,  closed  it  gently  behind  her. 

"  You  must  excuse  her,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Gusley ; 
"the  truth  is,  we  are  all  somewhat  upset  this  morning. 
Hester  would  have  saved  us  much  uneasiness,  I  may  say 
anxiety,  if  she  had  mentioned  to  us  yesterday  evening  that 
she  was  going  back  to  you.  No  doubt  she  overtook  your 
carriage,  which  put  up  at  the  inn  for  half  an  hour." 

"No,"  said  the  Bishop,  "she  came  on  foot.  She — 
walked  all  the  way." 

Mr.  Gusley  smiled.  "  I  am  afraid,  my  lord,  Hester  has 
given  you  an  inaccurate  account.  I  assure  you,  she  is 
incapable  of  walking  five  miles,  much  less  ten." 

"  She  took  about  five  hours  to  do  it,"  said  the  Bishop, 
who  had  hesitated  an  instant,  as  if  swallowing  something 
unpalatable.  "In  moments  of  great  excitement  nervous 
persons  like  your  sister  are  capable  of  almost  anything. 
The  question  is,  whether  she  will  survive  the  shock  that 
drove  her  out  of  your  house  last  night.  Her  hands  are 
severely  burned.  Dr.  Brown,  whom  I  left  with  her,  fears 
brain  fever." 

The  Bishop  paused,  giving  his  words  time  to  sink  in. 
Then  he  went  on  slowly  in  a  level  voice,  looking  into  the 
fire. 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  She  still  thinks  that  she  has  killed  Regie.  She  won't 
believe  the  doctor  and  me  when  we  assure  her  she  has  not. 
She  turns  against  us  for  deceiving  her." 

Mr.  Gusley  wrestled  with  a  very  bitter  feeling  towards 
his  sister,  overcame  it,  and  said,  hoarsely : 

"  Tell  her  from  me  that  Regie  is  not  much  the  worse, 
and  tell  her  that  I — that  his  mother  and  I — forgive  her." 

"Not  me,  James/'  sobbed  Mrs.  Gusley.  "It  is  too 
soon.  I  don't.  I  can't.  If  I  said  I  did  I  should  not  feel 
it." 

"  Hester  is  not  in  a  condition  to  receive  messages/' 
said  the  Bishop.  "She  would  not  believe  them.  Dr. 
Brown  says  the  only  thing  we  can  do  for  her  is  to  show 
Regie  to  her.  If  she  sees  him  she  may  believe  her  own 
eyes,  and  this  frightful  excitement  may  be  got  under.  I 
came  to  take  him  back  with  me  now  in  the  carriage." 

"I  will  not  let  him  go,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  the  mother 
in  her  overriding  her  awe  of  the  Bishop.  "  I  am  sorry  if 
Hester  is  ill.  I  will " — and  Mrs.  Gusley  made  a  superhu- 
man effort — "  I  will  come  and  nurse  her  myself,  but  I 
won't  have  Regie  frightened  a  second  time." 

"  He  shall  not  be  frightened  a  second  time.  But  it  is 
very  urgent.  While  we  are  wasting  time  talking,  Hester's 
life  is  ebbing  away  as  surely  as  if  she  were  bleeding  to 
death.  If  she  were  actually  bleeding  in  this  room  how 
quickly  you  two  would  run  to  her  and  bind  up  the  wound. 
There  would  be  nothing  you  would  not  do  to  relieve  her 
suffering." 

"  If  I  would  let  Regie  go,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  "  he  would, 
not  be  willing,  and  we  could  not  have  him  taken  away  by 
force,  could  we,  James  ?" 

The  door  opened,  and  Regie  appeared,  gently  pushed 
from  behind  by  Fraulein's  thin  hand.  Boulou  followed. 
The  door  was  closed  again  immediately,  almost  on  Boulou's 
tail. 

The  Bishop  and  Regie  looked  hard  at  each  other. 

"  I  send  my  love  to  Auntie  Hester,"  said  Regie,  in  his 
catechism  voice,  "  and  I  am  quite  well." 

283 


RED    POTTAGE 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  conversation  with  Regie 
alone,"  said  the  Bishop. 

Mrs.  G-usley  wavered,  but  the  Bishop's  eye  remained 
fixed  on  Mr.  Gusley,  and  the  latter  led  his  wife  away. 
The  door  was  left  ajar,  but  the  Bishop  closed  it.  Then 
he  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  held  out  his  hand. 

Regie  went  up  to  him  fearlessly,  and  stood  between  his 
knees.  The  two  faces  were  exactly  on  the  same  level.  Bou- 
lou  sat  down  before  the  fire,  his  tail  uncurling  in  the  heat. 

"  Auntie  Hester  is  very  sorry,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  She 
is  so  sorry  that  she  can't  even  cry." 

"Tell  her  not  to  mind,"  said  Regie. 

"  It's  no  good  telling  her.     Does  you  arm  hurt  much  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Mother  says  it  does,  and  Fraulein 
says  it  doesn't.  But  it  isn't  that." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?" 

"It  isn't  that,  or  the  'tato  being  lost,  it  was  only  crumbs 
afterwards  ;  but,  Mr.  Bishop,  I  hadn't  done  nothing." 

Regie  looked  into  the  kind  keen  eyes,  and  his  own  little 
red  ones  filled  again  with  tears. 

"I  had  not  done  nothing,"  he  repeated.  "And  I'd 
kept  my  'tato  for  her.  It's  that — that — I  don't  mind 
about  my  arm.  I'm  Christian  soldiers  about  my  arm  ;  but 
it's  that— that— " 

"  That  hurts  you  in  your  heart,"  said  the  Bishop,  put- 
ting his  arm  round  him. 

"Yes,"  said  Regie,  producing  a  tight  little  ball  that  had 
once  been  a  handkerchief.  "Auntie  Hester  and  I  were 
such  friends.  I  told  her  all  my  secrets,  and  she  told  me 
hers.  I  knew  long  before,  when  she  gave  father  the  silver 
cream- jug,  and  about  Fraulein's  muff.  If  it  was  a  mis- 
take, like  father  treading  on  my  foot  at  the  school-feast, 
I  should  not  mind,  but  she  did  it  on  purpose." 

The  Bishop's  brow  contracted.  Time  was  ebbing  away, 
ebbing  away  like  a  life.  Yet  Dr.  Brown's  warning  re- 
mained in  his  ears.  "  If  the  child  is  frightened  of  her, 
and  screams  when  he  sees  her,  I  won't  answer  for  the  con- 
sequences." 

284 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Is  that  your  little  dog  ?"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
tli  ought. 

"Yes,  that  is  Boulou." 

"  Was  he  ever  in  a  trap  ?"  asked  the  Bishop,  with  a  vague 
recollection  of  the  ways  of  clergymen's  dogs,  those  "  little 
rifts  within  the  lute,"  which  so  often  break  the  harmony 
between  a  sporting  squire  and  his  clergyman. 

"  He  was  once.  Mr.  Pratt  says  he  hunts,  but  father 
says  not,  that  he  could  not  catch  anything  if  he  tried." 

"I  had  a  dog  once,"  said  the  Bishop,  "called  Jock. 
And  he  got  in  a  trap  like  Boulou  did.  Now,  Jock  loved 
me.  He  cared  for  me  more  than  anybody  in  the  world. 
Yet,  as  I  was  letting  him  out  of  the  trap,  he  bit  me.  Do 
you  know  why  he  did  that  ?" 

"Why?" 

ee  Because  the  trap  hurt  him  so  dreadfully  that  he  could 
not  help  biting  something.  He  did  not  really  mean  it. 
He  licked  me  afterwards.  Now,  Auntie  Hester  was  like 
Jock.  She  was  in  dreadful,  dreadful  pain  like  a  trap,  and 
she  hit  you  like  Jock  bit  me.  But  Jock  loved  me  best  in 
the  world  all  the  time.  And  Auntie  Hester  loves  you, 
and  is  your  friend  she  tells  secrets  to,  all  the  time." 

"  Mother  says  she  does  not  love  me  really.  It  was  only 
pretence."  Regie's  voice  shook.  "  Mother  says  she  must 
never  come  back,  because  it  might  be  baby  next.  She 
said  so  to  father." 

"  Mother  has  made  a  mistake.  I'm  so  old  that  I  know 
better  even  than  mother.  Auntie  Hester  loves  you,  and 
can't  eat  any  breakfast  till  you  tell  her  you  don't  mind. 
Will  you  come  with  me  and  kiss  her,  and  tell  her  so  ? 
And  we'll  make  up  a  new  secret  on  the  way." 

"Yes,"  said  Eegie,  eagerly,  his  wan  little  face  turning 
pink.  "  But  mother  ?"  he  said,  stopping  short. 

"  Run  and  get  your  coat  on.  I  will  speak  to  mother. 
Quick,  Regie." 

Regie  rushed  curveting  out  of  the  room.  The  Bishop 
followed  more  slowly,  and  went  into  the  drawing-room 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley  were  sitting  by  the  fireless 

285 


RED    POTTAGE 

hearth.  The  drawing-room  fire  was  never  lit  till  two 
o'clock. 

"  Regie  goes  with  me  of  his  own  free  will,"  he  said; 
( '  so  that  is  settled.  He  will  be  quite  safe  with  me,  Mrs. 
Gusley." 

"  My  wife  demurs  at  sending  him,"  said  Mr.  Gusley. 

"  No,  no,  she  does  not,"  said  the  Bishop,  gently.  "Hes- 
ter saved  Regie's  life,  and  it  is  only  right  that  Regie 
should  save  hers.  You  will  come  over  this  afternoon  to 
take  him  back,"  he  contined  to  Mr.  Gusley.  "  I  wish  to 
have  some  conversation  with  you." 

Fraulein  appeared  breathless,  dragging  Regie  with  her. 

"  He  has  not  got  on  his  new  overcoat,"  said  Mrs.  Gus- 
ley. "  Regie,  run  up  and  change  at  once." 

Fraulein  actually  said,  "  Bozzer  ze  new  coat,"  and  she 
swept  Regie  into  the  carriage,  the  Bishop  following,  stum- 
bling over  the  ruins  of  the  porch. 

"  Have  they  had  their  hot  mash  ?"  he  said  to  the  coach- 
man, who  was  tearing  off  the  horses'  clothing. 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Then  drive  all  you  know.  Put  them  at  the  hills  at  a 
gallop." 

Fraulein  pressed  a  packet  of  biscuits  into  the  Bishop's 
hand.  "  He  eat  no  breakfast,"  she  said. 

"Uncle  Dick  said  the  porch  would  sit  down,  and  it 
has,"  said  Regie,  in  an  awe-struck  voice,  as  the  carriage 
swayed  from  side  to  side  of  the  road.  ft  Father  knows  a 
great  deal,  but  sometimes  I  think  Uncle  Dick  knows  most 
of  all.  First  gates  and  flying  half  -  pennies,  and  now 
porches." 

"  Uncle  Dick  is  staying  in  Southminster.  Perhaps  we 
shall  see  him." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  him  about  his  finger,  if  it  isn't  a 
secret." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is.  Now,  what  secret  shall  we  make 
up  on  the  way?"  The  Bishop  put  his  head  out  of  the 
window.  "  Drive  faster,"  he  said. 

It  was  decided  that  the  secret  should  be  a  Christmas- 

286 


RED    POTTAGE 

present  for  "Auntie  Hester,"  to  be  bought  in  South- 
minster.  The  Bishop  found  that  Regie's  entire  capital 
was  sixpence.  But  Regie  explained  that  he  could  spend  a 
shilling,  because  he  was  always  given  sixpence  by  his 
father  when  he  pulled  a  tooth  out.  "  And  I've  one  loose 
now/'  he  said.  "  When  I  suck  it  it  moves.  It  will  be 
ready  by  Christmas." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  horses'  hoofs  beat  the 
muffled  ground  altogether. 

"  Don't  you  find,  Mr.  Bishop,"  said  Regie,  tentatively, 
"  that  this  riding  so  quick  in  carriages  and  talking  secrets 
does  make  people  very  hungry  ?" 

The  Bishop  blushed.  "  It  is  quite  true,  my  boy.  I 
ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before.  I  am  uncommonly 
hungry  myself,"  he  said,  looking  in  every  pocket  for  the 
biscuits  Fraulein  had  forced  into  his  hand.  When  they 
were  at  last  discovered,  in  a  somewhat  dilapidated  condi- 
tion in  the  rug,  the  Bishop  found  they  were  a  kind  of 
biscuit  that  always  made  him  cough,  so  he  begged  Regie, 
who  was  dividing  them  equally,  as  a  personal  favor,  to  eat 
them  all. 

It  was  a  crumb  be-sprinkled  Bishop  who,  half  an  hour 
later,  hurried  up  the  stairs  of  the  Palace. 

"What  an  age  you  have  been/"  snapped  Dr.  Brown, 
from  the  landing. 

"How  is  she?" 

"  The  same,  but  weaker.     Have  you  got  Regie  ?" 

"Yes,  but  it  took  time." 

"Is  he  frightened?" 

"Not  a  bit/' 

"  Then  bring  him  up." 

The  doctor  went  back  into  the  bedroom,  leaving  the 
door  ajar. 

A  small  shrunken  figure  with  bandaged  head  and  hands 
was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair.  The  eyes  of  the  rigid,  dis- 
colored face  were  fixed. 

Dr.  Brown  took  the  bandage  off  Hester's  head,  and 
smoothed  her  hair. 

287 


RED    POTTAGE 

"He  is  coming  up-stairs  now,"  he  said,  shaking  her  gently 
by  the  shoulders.  "Regie  is  coming  np-stairs  now  to  see  you. 
Regie  is  quite  well,  and  he  is  coming  in  now  to  see  you." 

"Regie  is  dead,  you  old  gray  wolf,"  said  Hester,  in  a 
monotonous  voice.  "  I  killed  him  in  the  back-yard.  The 
place  is  quite  black,  and  it  smokes." 

"  Look  at  the  door,"  repeated  Dr.  Brown,  over  and 
over  again.  "  He  is  coming  in  at  the  door  now." 

Hester  trembled,  and  looked  at  the  door.  The  doctor 
noticed,  with  a  frown,  that  she  could  hardly  move  her  eyes. 

Regie  stood  in  the  doorway,  holding  the  Bishop's  hand. 
The  cold  snow  light  fell  upon  the  gallant  little  figure  and 
white  face. 

The  doctor  moved  between  Hester  and  the  window. 
His  shadow  was  upon  her. 

The  hearts  of  the  two  men  beat  like  hammers. 

A  change  came  over  Hester's  face. 

"  My  little  Reg,"  she  said,holding  out  her  bandaged  hands. 

Regie  ran  to  her,  and  put  his  arms  round  her  neck. 
They  clasped  each  other  tightly.  The  doctor  winced  to 
watch  her  hands. 

"  It's  all  right,  Auntie  Hester,"  said  Regie.  "  I  love 
you  just  the  same,  and  you  must  not  .cry  any  more." 

For  Hester's  tears  were  falling  at  last,  quenching  the 
wild  fire  in  her  eyes. 

"  My  little  treasure,  my  little  mouse,"  she  said,  over 
and  over  again,  kissing  his  face  and  hands  and  little  brown 
overcoat. 

Then  all  in  a  moment  her  face  altered.  Her  agonized 
eyes  turned  to  the  doctor. 

In  an  instant  Dr.  Brown's  hand  was  over  Regie's  eyes, 
and  he  hurried  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  Take  him  out  of  hearing,"  he  whispered  to  the  Bishop, 
and  darted  back. 

Hester  was  tearing  the  bandages  off  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  happened,"  she  wailed,  "  but 
my  hands  hurt  me  so  that  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Thank  God  !"  said  the  old  doctor,  blowing  his  nose. 

288 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

The  Devil  has  no  stancher  ally  than  want  of  perception. — PHILIP 

H.  WlCKSTEED. 

It  takes  two  to  speak  truth — one  to  speak  and  another  to  hear. — 
THOREAU. 

MRS.  GUSLEY  had  passed  an  uncomfortable  day.  In 
the  afternoon  all  the  Pratts  had  called,  and  Mr.  Gusley, 
who  departed  early  in  the  afternoon  for  Southminster, 
had  left  his  wife  no  directions  as  to  how  to  act  in  this  un- 
forseen  occurrence,  or  how  to  parry  the  questions  with 
which  she  was  overwhelmed. 

After  long  hesitation  she  at  last  owned  that  Hester  had 
returned  to  Southminster  in  the  Bishop's  carriage  not 
more  than  half  an  hour  after  it  had  brought  her  back. 

"  I  can't  explain  Hester's  actions/'  she  would  only  re- 
peat over  and  over  again.  "I  don't  pretend  to  under- 
stand clever  people.  I'm  not  clever  myself.  I  can  only 
say  Hester  went  back  to  Southminster  directly  she  ar- 
rived here." 

Hardly  had  the  Pratts  taken  their  departure  when  Doll 
Loftus  was  ushered  in.  His  wife  had  sent  him  to  ask 
where  Hester  was,  as  Fraulein  had  alarmed  her  earlier  in 
the  day.  Doll  at  least  asked  no  questions.  He  had  never 
asked  but  one  in  his  life,  and  that  had  been  of  his  wife, 
five  seconds  before  he  had  become  engaged  to  her. 

He  accepted  with  equanimity  the  information  that 
Hester  had  returned  to  Southminster,  and  departed  to 
impart  the  same  to  his  exasperated  wife. 

6 { But  why  did  she  go  back  ?  She  had  only  that  mo- 
ment arrived,"  inquired  Sybell.  How  should  Doll  know. 
She,  Sybell,  had  said  she  could  not  rest  till  she  knew 
T  '  289 


RED    POTTAGE 

where  Hester  was,  and  he,  Doll,  had  walked  to  Warping- 
ton  through  the  snow-drifts  to  find  out  for  her.  And  he 
had  found  out,  and  now  she  wanted  to  know  something 
else.  There  was  no  satisfying  some  women.  And  the 
injured  husband  retired  to  unlace  his  boots. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Gusley  had  passed  an  uncomfortable  day. 
She  had  ventured  out  for  a  few  minutes,  and  had  found 
Abel,  with  his  arms  akimbo,  contemplating  the  little  gate 
which  led  to  the  stables.  It  was  lying  on  the  ground. 
He  had  swept  the  snow  off  it. 

"  I  locked  it  up  the  same  as  usual  last  night,"  he  said 
to  Mrs.  Gusley.  "  There's  been  somebody  about  as  has 
tampered  it  off  its  hinges.  Yet  nothing  hasn't  been 
touched,  the  coal  nor  the  stack.  It  don't  seem  natural, 
twisting  the  gate  off  for  nothing." 

Mrs.  Gusley  did  not  answer.  She  did  not  associate 
Hester  with  the  gate.  But  she  was  too  much  perturbed 
to  care  about  such  small  matters  at  the  moment. 

"  His  lordship's  coachman  tell  me  as  Miss  Gusley  was 
at  the  Palace,"  continued  Abel,  "  while  I  was  a  hotting 
up  his  mash  for  him,  for  William  had  gone  in  with  a  note, 
and  onst  he's  in  the  kitchen  the  hanimals  might  be  stocks 
and  stones  for  what  he  cares.  He  said  his  nevvy,  the 
footman,  heard  the  front  door-bell  ring  just  as  he  was 
getting  into  bed  last  night,  and  Miss  Gusley  come  in  with- 
out her  hat,  with  the  snow  upon  her.  The  coachman 
said  as  she  must  ha'  run  afoot  all  the  way." 

Abel  looked  anxiously  at  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  he  said,  "as  perhaps  the  little 
lady  wasn't  quite  right  in  her  'ead.  They  do  say  as  too 
much  learning  flies  to  the  'ead,  the  same  as  spirits  to  them 
as  ain't  manured  to  'em.  And  the  little  lady  does  work 
desperate  hard." 

"  Not  as  hard  as  Mr.  Gusley,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"Maybe  not,  mem,  maybe  not.  But  when  I  come  up  when 
red  cow  was  sick  at  four  in  the  morning,  or  maybe  earlier, 
there  was  always  a  light  in  her  winder,  and  the  shadder  of 
her  face  agin  the  blind.  Yes,  she  do  work  precious  hard." 

290 


KED    POTTAGE 

Mrs.  Gusley  retreated  into  the  nouse,  picking  her  way 
over  the  debris  of  the  porch.  At  any  other  time  its  de- 
mise would  have  occupied  the  minds  of  the  Vicarage 
household  for  days.  But,  until  this  moment,  it  had  hardly 
claimed  the  tribute  of  a  sigh.  Mrs.  Gusley  did  sigh  as 
she  crossed  the  threshold.  That  prostrate  porch  meant 
expense.  She  had  understood  from  her  husband  that 
Dick  had  wantonly  torn  out  the  clamp  that  supported 
it,  and  that  the  whole  thing  had  in  consequence  given 
way  under  the  first  snowfall.  "He  meant  no  harm," 
Mr.  Gusley  had  added,  "but  I  suppose  in  the  Colonies 
they  mistake  horse-play  for  wit." 

Mrs.  Gusley  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sat 
down  to  her  needle-work.  She  was  an  exquisite  needle- 
woman, but  all  the  activity  of  her  untiring  hands  was 
hardly  able  to  stem  the  tide  of  mending  that  was  for  ever 
flowing  in  upon  her.  When  was  she  to  find  time  to  finish 
the  darling  little  garments  which  the  new  baby  required  ? 
Fraulein  had  been  kind  in  helping,  but  Fraulein's  eyes 
were  not  very  strong,  or  her  stitches  in  consequence  very 
small.  Mrs.  Gusley  would  have  liked  to  sit  in  the  school- 
room when  lessons  were  over,  but  Fraulein  had  been  so 
distant  at  luncheon  about  a  rissole  that  she  had  not  the 
courage  to  go  in. 

So  she  sat  and  stitched  with  a  heavy  heart  awaiting  her 
husband's  return.  The  fly  was  another  expense.  South- 
minster  was  ten  miles  from  Warpington,  eleven  according 
to  the  Loftus  Arms,  from  which  it  issued,  the  owner  of 
which  was  not  on  happy  terms  with  his  "  teetotal "  vicar. 
Yet  it  had  been  absolutely  necessary  to  have  the  fly,  in 
order  that  Regie,  who  so  easily  caught  cold,  might  return 
in  safety. 

The  dusk  was  already  falling,  and  more  snow  with  it. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Mrs.  Gusley  at  last  caught  the 
sound  of  wheels,  and  hurried  to  the  door. 

Mr.  Gusley  came  in,  bearing  Regie,  fast  asleep  in  a  fur 
rug,  and  laid  him  carefully  on  the  sofa,  and  then  went  out 
to  have  an  altercation  with  the  driver,  who  demurred  in 

291 


RED    POTTAGE 

forcible  language  to  the  arrangement,  adhered  to  by  Mr. 
Gusley,  that  the  cost  of  the  fly  should  be  considered  as 
part  payment  of  certain  arrears  of  tithe  which  in  those 
days  it  was  the  unhappy  duty  of  the  clergyman  to  collecl 
himself.  Mr.  Gusley's  methods  of  dealing  with  mone] 
matters  generally  brought  in  a  high  rate  of  interest  in  th< 
way  of  friction,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  driver 
drove  away,  turning  his  horse  deliberately  on  the  little 
patch  of  lawn  under  the  dining-room  windows. 

Eegie  in  the  meanwhile  had  waked  up,  and  was  having 
tea  in  the  drawing-room  as  a  great  treat. 

He  had  much  to  tell  about  his  expedition  ;  how  the 
Bishop  had  given  him  half-a-crown,  and  Uncle  Dick  had 
taken  him  into  the  town  to  spend  it,  and  how  after  dinner 
he  had  ridden  on  Uncle  Dick's  back. 

"  And  Auntie  Hester.     How  was  she  ?" 

"  She  was  very  well,  only  she  cried  a  little.  I  did  not 
stay  long,  because  Mr.  Bishop  was  wanting  to  give  me  the 
half-crown,  and  he  kept  it  down-stairs.  And  when  I  went 
in  again  she  was  in  bed,  and  she  was  so  sleepy  she  hardly 
said  anything  at  all." 

Mr.  Gusley  came  in  wearily,  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 

Mrs.  Gusley  gave  him  his  tea,  and  presently  took  Regie 
up-stairs.  Then  she  came  back  and  sat  down  in  a  low 
chair  close  to  her  husband.  It  was  the  first  drop  of  com- 
fort in  Mr.  Gusley's  cup  to-day. 

"  How  is  Hester  ?" 

' '  According  to  Dr.  Brown  she  is  very  ill,"  said  Mr. 
Gusley,  in  an  extinguished  voice.  "  But  they  would  not 
let  me  see  her." 

"  Not  see  her  own  brother  !  My  dear  James,  you 
should  have  insisted." 

"  I  did,  but  it  was  no  use.  You  know  how  angry  Dr. 
Brown  gets  at  the  least  opposition.  And  the  Bishop 
backed  him  up.  They  said  it  would  excite  her." 

"1  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  What  is  the  matter 
with  her  ?" 

"  Shock,  Dr.  Brown  calls  it.     They  have  been  afraid  of 

292 


RED    POTTAGE 

collapse  all  day,  but  she  is  better  this   evening.     They 
seemed  to  think  a  great  deal  of  her  knowing  Regie." 

"  Did  the  little  lamb  forgive  her  ?" 

"  Oh  yes;  he  kissed  her,  and  she  knew  him  and  cried. 
And  it  seems  her  hands  are  severely  burned.  They  have 
got  a  nurse,  and  they  have  telegraphed  for  Miss  West. 
The  Bishop  was  very  good  to  Regie  and  gave  him  that  fur 
rug." 

They  looked  at  the  splendid  blue  fox  rug  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  after  a  pause,  "  that 
Hester  did  run  all  the  way  to  Southminster  as  the  Bishop 
said.  Abel  said  the  Bishop's  coachman  told  him  that  she 
came  late  last  night  to  the  Palace,  and  she  was  white  with 
snow  when  the  footman  let  her  in." 

"  My  dear,  I  should  have  thought  you  were  too  sensible 
to  listen  to  servant's  gossip,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  impatiently. 
"  Your  own  common-sense  will  tell  you  that  Hester  never 
performed  that  journey  on  foot.  I  told  Dr.  Brown  the 
same,  but  he  lost  his  temper  at  once.  It's  curious  how 
patient  he  is  in  a  sick-room,  and  how  furious  he  can  be  out 
of  it.  He  was  very  angry  with  me,  too,  because  when  he 
mentioned  to  the  Bishop  in  my  presence  that  Hester  was 
under  morphia,  I  said  I  strongly  objected  to  her  being 
drugged,  and  when  I  repeated  that  morphia  was  a  most 
dangerous  drug,  with  effects  worse  than  intoxication,  in 
fact,  that  morphia  was  a  form  of  intoxication,  he  positively, 
before  the  Bishop,  shook  his  fist  in  my  face,  and  said  he 
was  not  going  to  be  taught  his  business  by  me. 

"  The  Bishop  took  me  away  into  the  study.  Dick 
Vernon  was  sitting  there,  at  least  he  was  creeping  about 
on  all  fours  with  Regie  on  his  back.  I  think  he  must  be 
in  love  with  Hester,  he  asked  so  anxiously  if  there  was 
any  change.  He  would  not  speak  to  me,  pretended  not 
to  know  me.  I  suppose  the  Bishop  had  told  him  about 
the  porch,  and  he  was  afraid  I  should  come  on  him  for 
repairs,  as  he  had  tampered  with  it.  The  Bishop  sent 
them  away,  and  said  he  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  me. 
The  Bishop  himself  was  the  only  person  who  was  kind." 

293 


RED    POTTAGE 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Mrs.  Gusley  laid  her  soft 
cheek  against  her  husband's,  and  put  her  small  hand  in  a 
protecting  manner  over  his  large  one.  It  was  not  surpris- 
ing that  on  the  following  Sunday  Mr.  Gusley  said  such 
beautiful  things  about  women  being  pillows  against  which 
weary  masculine  athletes  could  rest. 

"  He  spoke  very  nicely  of  you,"  went  on  Mr.  Gusley  at 
last.  "  He  said  he  appreciated  your  goodness  in  letting 
Eegie  go  after  what  had  happened,  and  your  offer  to  come 
and  nurse  Hester  yourself.  And  then  he  spoke  about 
me.  And  he  said  he  knew  well  how  devoted  I  was  to 
my  work,  and  how  anything  I  did  for  the  Church  was 
a  real  labor  of  love,  and  that  my  heart  was  in  my 
work/' 

"  It  is  quite  true.     So  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"I  never  thought  he  understood  me  so 'well.  And  he 
went  on  to  say  that  he  knew  I  must  be  dreadfully  anxious 
about  my  sister,  but  that  as  far  as  money  was  concerned — I 
had  offered  to  pay  for  a  nurse — I  was  to  put  all  anxiety  off 
my  mind.  He  would  take  all  responsibility  about  the  illness. 
He  said  he  had  a  little  fund  laid  by  for  emergencies  of  this 
kind,  and  that  he  could  not  spend  it  better  than  on  Hester, 
whom  he  loved  like  his  own  child.  And  then  he  went  on 
to  speak  of  Hester.  I  don't  remember  all  he  said  when 
he  turned  off  about  her,  but  he  spoke  of  her  as  if  she  was 
a  person  quite  out  of  the  common." 

"  He  always  did  spoil  her,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"  He  went  off  on  a  long  rigmarole  about  her  and  her 
talent,  and  how  vain  he  and  I  should  be  if  leading  articles 
appeared  in  the  Spectator  about  us  as  they  did  about  her. 
I  did  not  know  there  had  been  anything  of  the  kind,  but 
he  said  every  one  else  did.  And  then  he  went  on  more 
slowly  that  Hester  was  under  a  foolish  hallucination,  as 
groundless,  no  doubt,  as  that  she  had  caused  Regie's 
death,  that  her  book  was  destroyed.  He  said,  'It  is  this 
idea  which  has  got  firm  hold  of  her,  but  which  has  mo- 
mentarily passed  off  her  mind  in  her  anxiety  about  Regie, 
which  has  caused  her  illness.'  And  then  he  looked  at  me. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

He  seemed  really  quite  shaky.  He  held  on  to  a  chair. 
I  think  his  health  is  breaking." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  said  the  truth,  that  it  was  no  hallucination  but  the 
fact,  that  much  as  I  regretted  to  say  so  Hester  had  writ- 
ten a  profane  and  immoral  book,  and  that  I  had  felt  it 
my  duty  to  burn  it,  and  a  very  painful  duty  it  had  been. 
I  said  he  would  have  done  the  same  if  he  had  read  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  said  that." 

"  Well,  the  awkward  part  was  that  he  said  he  had  read 
it,  every  word,  and  that  he  considered  it  the  finest  book 
that  had  been  written  in  his  day.  And  then  he  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  and  to  become  rather  excited,  and  to 
say  that  he  could  not  understand  how  I  could  take  upon 
myself  such  a  responsibility,  or  on  what  grounds  I  con- 
sidered myself  a  judge  of  literature.  As  if  I  ever  did 
consider  myself  a  judge  !  But  I  do  know  right  from 
wrong.  We  had  got  on  all  right  up  till  then,  especially 
when  he  spoke  so  cordially  of  you  and  me,  but  directly  he 
made  a  personal  matter  of  Hester's  book,  setting  his 
opinion  against  mine,  for  he  repeated  over  and  over  again 
it  was  a  magnificent  book,  his  manner  seemed  to  change. 
He  tried  to  speak  kindly,  but  all  the  time  I  saw  that  my 
considering  the  book  bad  while  he  thought  it  good,  grav- 
elled him,  and  made  him  feel  annoyed  with  me.  The 
truth  is,  he  can't  bear  any  one  to  think  differently  from 
himself." 

"  He  always  was  like  that,"  said  the  comforter. 

f '  I  said  I  supposed  he  thought  it  right  to  run  down  the 
clergy  and  hold  them  up  to  ridicule.  He  said,  '  Certainly 
not,  but  he  did  not  see  how  that  applied  to  anything  in 
Hester's  book/  He  said,  '  She  has  drawn  us,  without  bias 
towards  us,  exactly  as  we  appear  to  three-quarters  of  the 
laity.  It  won't  do  us  any  harm  to  see  ourselves  for  once 
as  others  see  us.  There  is  in  these  days  an  increasing 
adverse  criticism  of  us  in  many  men's  minds,  to  which 
your  sister's  mild  rebukes  are  as  nothing.  We  have  drawn 
it  upon  ourselves,  not  so  much  by  our  conduct,  which  I 

295 


RED    POTTAGE 

believe  to  be  uniformly  above  reproach,  or  by  any  lack  of 
zeal,  as  by  our  ignorance  of  onr  calling ;  by  onr  inability 
to  "  convert  life  into  truth,"  the  capital  secret  of  our  pro- 
fession, as  I  was  once  told  as  a  divinity  student.  I  for 
one  believe  that  the  Church  will  regain  her  prestige  and 
her  hold  on  the  heart  of  the  nation,  but  if  she  does,  it  will 
be  mainly  due  to  a  new  element  in  the  minds  of  the  clergy, 
a  stronger  realization,  not  of  our  responsibilities — we  have 
that — but  of  the  education,  the  personal  search  for  truth, 
the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  which  are  necessary  to 
enable  us  to  meet  them/  He  went  on  a  long  time  about 
that.  I  think  he  grows  very  wordy.  But  I  did  not  argue 
with  him.  I  let  him  say  what  he  liked.  I  knew  that  I 
must  be  obedient  to  my  Bishop,  just  as  I  should  expect 
my  clergy  to  be  to  me,  if  I  ever  am  a  Bishop  myself.  Not 
that  I  expect  I  ever  shall  be/' — Mr.  Gusley  was  overtired 
— "  But  it  seemed  to  me  as  he  talked  about  the  book,  that 
all  the  time,  though  he  put  me  down  to  the  highest  mo- 
tives— he  did  me  that  justice — he  was  trying  to  make  me 
own  I  had  done  wrong." 

"You  didn't  say  so?"  said  the  little  wife,  hotly. 

"My  dear,  need  you  ask?  But  I  did  say  at  last  that  I 
had  consulted  with  Archdeacon  Thursby  on  the  matter, 
and  he  had  strongly  advised  me  to  do  as  I  did.  The  Bishop 
seemed  thunderstruck.  And  then — it  really  seemed  provi- 
dential—who should  come  in  but  Archdeacon  Thursby 
himself.  The  Bishop  went  straight  up  to  him,  and  said, 
'  You  come  at  a  fortunate  moment,  for  I  am  greatly  dis- 
tressed at  the  burning  of  Miss  Gusley's  book,  and  Gusley 
tells  me  that  you  advised  it/  And  would  you  believe  it," 
said  Mr.  Gusley,  in  a  strangled  voice,  "the  Archdeacon 
actually  denied  it  then  and  there.  He  said  he  did  not 
know  Hester  had  written  a  book,  and  had  never  been  con- 
sulted on  the  subject." 

The  tears  forced  themselves  out  of  Mr.  Gusley's  eyes. 
He  was  exhausted  and  overwrought.  He  sobbed  against 
his  wife's  shoulder. 

"  Wicked  liar !"  whispered  Mrs.  Gusley,  into  his  parting. 

296 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Wicked,  wicked  man  !  Oh,  James,  I  never  thought  the 
Archdeacon  could  have  behaved  like  that  I" 

"Nor  I,"  gasped  Mr.  Gusley,  "but  he  did.  I  suppose 
he  did  not  want  to  offend  the  Bishop.  And  when  I  ex- 
postulated with  him,  and  reminded  him  of  what  he  ad- 
vised only  the  day  before,  he  said  that  was  about  a  letter, 
not  a  book,  as  if  it  mattered  which  it  was.  It  was  the 
principle  that  mattered.  But  they  neither  of  them  would 
listen  to  me.  I  said  I  had  offered  to  help  to  rewrite  it, 
and  the  Bishop  became  quite  fierce.  He  said  I  might  as 
well  try  to  rewrite  Eegie  if  he  were  in  his  coffin.  And 
then  he  mentioned,  casually,  as  if  it  were  quite  an  after- 
thought, that  Hester  had  sold  it  for  a  thousand  pounds.  All 
through,  I  knew  he  was  really  trying  to  hurt  my  feelings,  in 
spite  of  his  manner,  but  when  he  said  that  he  succeeded." 

Mr.  Gusley  groaned. 

"  A  thousand  pounds!"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  turning  white. 
"Oh,  it  isn't  possible!" 

"  He  said  he  had  seen  the  publisher's  letter  offering  it, 
and  that  Hester  had  accepted  it  by  his  advice.  He  seemed 
to  know  all  about  her  affairs.  When  he  said  that,  I  was  so 
distressed  I  could  not  help  showing  it,  and  he  made 
rather  light  of  it,  saying  the  money  loss  was  the  least  seri- 
ous part  of  the  whole  affair,  but,  of  course,  it  is  the  worst. 
Poor  Hester,  when  I  think  that  owing  to  me  she  has  lost 
a  thousand  pounds.  Seventy  pounds  a  year,  if  I  had  in- 
vested it  for  her,  and  I  know  of  several  good  investments, 
all  perfectly  safe,  at  seven  per  cent. — when  I  think  of  it  it 
makes  me  absolutely  miserable.  We  won't  talk  of  it  any 
more.  The  Bishop  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands  for  a 
long  time  after  the  Archdeacon  had  gone,  and  afterwards 
he  was  quite  kindly  again,  and  said  we  looked  at  the  sub- 
ject from  such  different  points  of  view  that  perhaps  there 
was  no  use  in  discussing  it.  And  we  talked  of  the  Church 
Congress  until  the  fly  came,  only  he  seemed  dreadfully 
tired,  quite  knocked  up.  And  he  promised  to  let  us  know 
first  thing  to-morrow  morning  how  Hester  was.  He  was 
cordial  when  we  left.  I  think  he  meant  well.  But  I  can 

297 


RED    POTTAGE 

never  feel  the  same  to  Archdeacon  Thursby  again.  He 
was  quite  my  greatest  friend  among  the  clergy  round  here. 
I  suppose  I  shall  learn  in  time  not  to  have  such  a  high 
ideal  of  people,  but  I  certainly  thought  very  highly  of  him 
until  to-day." 

Mr.  Gusley  sat  upright,  and  put  away  his  handkerchief 
with  decision. 

"  One  thing  this  miserable  day  has  taught  us,"  he  said, 
"and  that  is  that  we  must  part  with  Fraulein.  If  she  is  to 
become  impertinent  the  first  moment  we  are  in  trouble, 
such  a  thing  is  not  to  be  borne.  We  could  not  possibly 
keep  her  after  her  behavior  to-day." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

If  two  lives  join,  there  is  oft  a  scar. 

—ROBERT  RROWNING. 

RACHEL  left  Westhope  Abbey  the  day  after  Lord  Newha- 
ven's  funeral,  and  returned  to  London.  And  the  day  after 
that  Hugh  came  to  see  her,,  and  proposed,  and  was  accepted. 

He  had  gone  over  in  his  mind  a  hundred  times  all  that 
he  should  say  to  her  on  that  occasion.  If  he  had  said  all 
that  he  was  fully  resolved  to  say,  it  is  hardly  credible  that 
any  woman,  however  well  disposed  towards  him,  would 
have  accepted  so  tedious  a  suitor.  But  what  he  really 
said,  in  a  hoarse,  inaudible  voice,  was,  "  Rachel,  will  you 
marry  me  ?"  He  was  looking  so  intently  into  a  little 
grove  of  Roman  hyacinths,  that  perhaps  the  hyacinths 
heard  what  he  said ;  at  any  rate,  she  did  not.  But  she 
supposed,  from  long  experience,  that  he  was  proposing, 
and  she  said  "  Yes  "  immediately. 

She  had  not  intended  to  say  so — at  least,  not  at  first. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  it  would  be  only  right  to 
inform  him  that  she  was  fourteen  months  older  than  he 
(she  had  looked  him  out  in  Burke  where  she  herself  was 
not  to  be  found) ;  that  she  was  "  old  enough  to  be  his 
mother";  also  that  she  was  of  a  cold,  revengeful  temper 
not  calculated  to  make  a  home  happy,  and  several  other 
odious  traits  of  character  which  she  had  never  dreamed  of 
confiding  to  any  of  the  regiment  of  her  previous  lovers. 

But  the  only  word  she  had  breath  to  say  when  the  time 
came  was  "  Yes." 

Rachel  had  shivered  and  hesitated  on  the  brink  of  a 
new  love  long  enough.  Her  anxiety  about  Hugh  had  un- 

299 


RED    POTTAGE 

consciously  undermined  her  resistance.  His  confession 
had  given  her  instantly  the  confidence  in  him  which  had 
been  wanting.  It  is  not  perfection  that  we  look  for  in 
our  fellow-creatures,  but  for  what  is  apparently  rarer,  a 
little  plain  dealing. 

How  they  rise  before  us ! — the  sweet  reproachful  faces 
of  those  whom  we  could  have  loved  devotedly  if  they  had 
been  willing  to  be  straightforward  with  us;  whom  we 
have  lost,  not  by  our  own  will,  but  by  that  paralysis  of 
feeling  which  gradually  invades  the  heart  at  the  discovery 
of  small  insincerities.  Sincerity  seems  our  only  security 
against  losing  those  who  love  us,  the  only  cup  in  which 
those  who  are  worth  keeping  will  care  to  pledge  us  when 
youth  is  past. 

Rachel  was  not  by  nature  de  celles  qui  sejettent  dans 
V amour  comme  dans  un  precipice.  But  she  shut  her  eyes, 
recommended  her  soul  to  God,  and  threw  herself  over. 
She  had  climbed  down  once — with  assistance — and  she 
was  not  going  to  do  that  again.  That  she  found  herself 
alive  at  the  bottom  was  a  surprise  to  her,  but  a  surprise 
that  was  quickly  forgotten  in  the  constant  wonder  that 
Hugh  could  love  her  as  devotedly  as  it  was  obvious  he 
did. 

Women  would  have  shared  that  wonder,  but  not  men. 
There  was  a  home  ready  made  in  Rachel's  faithful,  dog- 
like  eyes,  which  at  once  appealed  to  the  desire  of  expan- 
sion of  empire  in  the  heart  of  the  free-born  Briton. 

Hugh  had,  until  lately,  considered  woman  as  connected 
with  the  downward  slope  of  life.  He  would  have  loudly 
disclaimed  such  an  opinion  if  it  had  been  attributed  to 
him ;  but  nevertheless  it  was  the  key-note  of  his  behavior 
towards  them,  his  belief  concerning  them  which  was  of  a 
piece  with  his  cheap  cynicism  and  dilettante  views  of  life. 
He  now  discovered  that  woman  was  made  out  of  some- 
thing more  than  man's  spare  rib. 

It  is  probable  that  if  he  had  never  been  in  love  with 
Lady  Newhaven,  Hugh  would  never  have  loved  Rachel. 
He  would  have  looked  at  her,  as  many  men  did,  with  a 

300 


HED    POTTAGE 

view  to  marriage  and  would  probably  have  dismissed  her 
from  his  thoughts  as  commonplace.  He  knew  better 
now.  It  was  Lady  Newhaven  who  was  commonplace.  His 
worldliness  was  dropping  from  him  day  by  day  as  he 
learned  to  know  Rachel  better. 

Where  was  his  cynicism  now  that  she  loved  him  ? 

His  love  for  her,  humble,  triumphant,  diffident,  pas- 
sionate, impatient  by  turns,  now  exacting,  now  selfless, 
possessed  him  entirely.  He  remembered  once,  with 
astonishment,  that  he  was  making  a  magnificent  match. 
He  had  never  thought  of  it,  as  Rachel  knew,  as  she  knew 
well. 

December  came  in  bleak  and  dark.  The  snow  did  its 
poor  best,  laying  day  after  day  its  white  veil  upon  the  dis- 
mal streets.  But  it  was  misunderstood.  It  was  scraped 
into  murky  heaps.  It  melted  and  then  froze,  and  then 
melted  again.  And  London  groaned  and  shivered  on  its 
daily  round. 

Every  afternoon  Hugh  came,  and  every  morning  Rachel 
made  her  rooms  bright  with  flowers  for  him.  The  florist 
at  the  corner  sent  her  tiny  trees  of  white  lilac,  and  sweet 
little  united  families  of  hyacinths  and  tulips.  The  time 
of  azaleas  was  not  yet.  And  once  he  sent  her  a  bunch 
of  daffodils.  He  knew  best  how  he  had  obtained  them. 

Their  wild,  sweet  faces  peered  at  Rachel,  and  she  sat 
down  faint  and  dizzy,  holding  them  in  her  nerveless 
hands.  If  one  daffodil  knows  anything,  all  daffodils  know 
it  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  they  said.  "  That  man  whom  you  loved 
once  ?  We  were  there  when  he  spoke  to  you.  We  saw 
you  stand  together  by  the  attic  window.  We  never  say, 
but  we  heard,  we  remember.  And  you  cried  for  joy  at 
night  afterwards.  We  never  say.  But  we  heard.  We  re- 
member." 

Rachel's  secretary  in  the  little  room  on  the  ground-floor 
was  interrupted  by  a  tap  at  the  door.  Rachel  came  in 
laden  with  daffodils.  Their  splendor  filled  the  gray  room. 

301 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Would  you  mind  having  them  ?"  she  said,  smiling,  and 
laying  them  down  by  her.  ' '  And  would  you  kindly  write 
a  line  to  Jones  telling  him  not  to  send  me  daffodils  again. 
They  are  a  flower  I  particularly  dislike. " 

"  Eachel  ?» 

"Hugh!" 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  if  we  were  married 
immediately  ?" 

"Better  than  what?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know;  better  than  breaking  it  off." 

"  You  can't  break  it  off  now.  I'm  not  a  person  to  be 
trifled  with.  You  have  gone  too  far." 

"If  you  gave  me  half  your  attention,  you  would  under- 
stand that  I  am  only  expressing  a  wish  to  go  a  little  fur- 
ther, but  you  have  become  so  frivolous  since  we  have  been 
engaged  that  I  hardly  recognize  you." 

"  I  suit  myself  to  my  company." 

"Are  you  going  to  talk  to  me  in  that  flippant  manner 
when  we  are  married.  I  sometimes  fear,  Eachel,  you 
don't  look  upon  me  with  sufficient  awe.  I  foresee  I  shall 
have  to  be  very  firm  when  we  are  married.  When  may  I 
begin  to  be  firm  ?" 

"Are  these  such  evil  days,  Hugh  ?" 

"  I  am  like  Oliver  Twist,"  he  said.     "  I  want  more." 

They  were  sitting  together  one  afternoon  in  the  fire- 
light in  silence.  They  often  sat  in  silence  together. 

"A  wise  woman  once  advised  me,"  said  Eachel  at  last, 
"  if  I  married,  never  to  tell  my  husband  of  any  previous 
attachment.  She  said,  Let  him  always  believe  that  he  was 
the  first 

That  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea. 

I  believe  it  was  good  advice,  but  it  seems  to  me  to  have 
one  drawback — to  follow  it  may  be  to  tell  a  lie.  It  would 
be  in  my  case." 

302 


RED    POTTAGE 

Silence. 

"  I  know  that  a  lie  and  an  adroit  appeal  to  the  vanity 
of  man  are  supposed  to  be  a  woman's  recognized  weapons. 
The  same  woman  told  me  that  I  might  find  myself  mis- 
taken in  many  things  in  this  world,  but  never  in  counting 
on  the  vanity  of  man.  She  said  that  was  a  reed  which 
would  never  pierce  my  hand.  I  don't  think  you  are  vain, 
Hugh." 

"  Not  vain !  Why,  I  am  so  conceited  at  the  fact  that 
you  are  going  to  marry  me  that  I  look  down  on  every  one 
else.  I  only  long  to  tell  them  so.  When  may  I  tell  my 
mother,  Rachel  ?  She  is  coming  to  London  this  week." 

' '  You  have  the  pertinacity  of  a  fly.  You  always  come 
back  to  the  same  point.  I  am  beginning  to  be  rather 
bored  with  your  marriage.  You  can't  talk  of  anything 
else." 

"I  can't  think  about  anything  else." 

He  drew  her  cheek  against  his.  He  was  an  ingratiating 
creature. 

"Neither  can  I,"  she  whispered. 

And  that  was  all  Rachel  ever  said  of  all  she  meant  to 
say  about  Mr.  Tristram. 

A  yellow  fog.  It  made  rings  round  the  shaded  electric 
lamp  by  which  Rachel  was  reading.  The  fire  burned 
tawny  and  blurred.  Even  her  red  gown  looked  dim. 
Hugh  came  in. 

"  What  are  you  reading  ?"  he  said,  sitting  down  by  her. 

He  did  not  want  to  know,  but  if  you  are  reading  a  book 
on  another  person's  knee  you  cannot  be  a  very  long  way 
off.  He  glanced  with  feigned  interest  at  the  open  page, 
stooping  a  little,  for  he  was  short-sighted  now  and  then — 
at  least  now. 

Rachel  took  the  opportunity  to  look  at  him.  You  can't 
really  look  at  a  person  when  he  is  looking  at  you.  Hugh 
was  very  handsome,  especially  side  face,  and  he  knew  it ; 
but  he  was  not  sure  whether  Rachel  thought  so. 

He  read  mechanically  : 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Take  back  your  vows. 

Elsewhere  you  trimmed  and  taught  these  lamps  to  burn ; 
You  bring  them  stale  and  dim  to  serve  my  turn. 
You  lit  those  candles  in  another  shrine, 
Guttered  and  cold  you  offer  them  on  mine. 
Take  back  your  vows." 

A  shadow  fell  across  Hugh's  mind.     Rachel  saw  it  fall. 

"  You  do  not  think  that  of  me,  Rachel,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  verse.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  alluded  to 
that  halting  confession  which  had  remained  branded  on 
the  minds  of  both. 

He  glanced  up  at  her,  and  she  suffered  him  for  a  mo- 
ment to  look  through  her  clear  eyes  into  her  soul. 

' ( I  never  thought  that  of  you,"  she  said,  with  difficulty. 
"  I  am  so  foolish  that  I  believe  the  candles  are  lit  now  for 
the  first  time.  I  am  so  foolish  that  I  believe  you  love  me 
nearly  as  much  as  I  love  you." 

"  It  is  a  dream,"  said  Hugh,  passionately,  and  he  fell 
on  his  knees,  and  hid  his  white  face  against  her  knee.  "It 
is  a  dream.  I  shall  wake,  and  find  you  never  cared  for 
me." 

She  sat  for  a  moment  stunned  by  the  violence  of  his 
emotion,  which  was  shaking  him  from  head  to  foot.  Then 
she  drew  him  into  her  trembling  arms,  and  held  his  head 
against  her  breast. 

She  felt  his  tears  through  her  gown. 

"  What  is  past  will  never  come  between  us,"  she  said, 
brokenly,  at  last.  "  I  have  cried  over  it  too,  Hugh ;  but  I 
have  put  it  from  my  mind.  When  you  told  me  about  it, 
knowing  you  risked  losing  me  by  telling  me,  I  suddenly 
trusted  you  entirely.  I  had  not  quite  up  till  then.  I 
can't  say  why,  except  that  perhaps  I  had  grown  suspicious 
because  I  was  once  deceived.  But  I  do  now,  because  you 
were  open  with  me.  I  think,  Hugh,  you  and  I  can  dare 
to  be  truthful  to  each  other.  You  have  been  so  to  me, 
and  I  will  be  so  to  you.  I  knew  about  that  long  before 
you  told  me.  Lady  Newhaven — poor  thing  ! — confided  in 
me  last  summer.  She  had  to  tell  some  one.  I  think  you 

304 


KED    POTTAGE 

ought  to  know  that  I  know.     And  oh,  Hugh,  I  knew  abont 
the  drawing  of  lots,  too." 

Hugh  started  violently,  but  he  did  not  move. 

Would  she  have  recognized  that  ashen,  convulsed  face  if 
he  had  raised  it  ? 

"  Lady  Newhaveii  listened  at  the  door  when  you  were 
drawing  lots,  and  she  told  me.  But  we  never  knew  which 
had  drawn  the  short  lighter  till  Lord  Newhaven  was  killed 
on  the  line.  Only  she  and  I  and  you  know  that  that  was 
not  an  accident.  I  know  what  you  must  have  gone 
through  all  the  summer,  feeling  you  had  taken  his  life  as 
well.  But  you  must  remember  it  was  his  own  doing,  and 
a  perfectly  even  chance.  You  ran  the  same  risk.  His 
blood  is  on  his  own  head.  But  oh,  my  darling,  when  I 
think  it  might  have  been  you  \" 

Hugh  thought  afterwards  that  if  her  arms  had  not  been 
round  him,  if  he  had  been  a  little  distance  from  her,  he 
might  have  told  her  the  truth.  He  owed  it  to  her,  this 
woman  who  was  the  very  soul  of  truth.  But  if  she  had 
withdrawn  from  him,  however  gently,  in  the  moment 
when  her  tenderness  had,  for  the  first  time,  vanquished 
her  natural  reserve,  if  she  had  taken  herself  away  then, 
he  could  not  have  borne  it.  In  deep  repentance  after  Lord 
Newhaven's  death,  he  had  vowed  that  from  that  day  for- 
ward he  would  never  deviate  again  from  the  path  of  truth 
and  honor,  however  difficult  it  might  prove.  But  this 
frightful  moment  had  come  upon  him  unawares.  He 
drew  back  instinctively,  giddy  and  unnerved,  as  from  a 
chasm  yawning  suddenly  among  the  flowers,  one  step  in 
front  of  him.  He  was  too  stunned  to  think.  When  he 
rallied  they  were  standing  together  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
she  was  saying — he  did  not  know  what  she  was  saying,  for 
he  was  repeating  over  and  over  again  to  himself,  "  The 
moment  is  past.  The  moment  is  past." 

At  last  her  words  conveyed  some  meaning  to  him. 

"We  will  never  speak  of  this  again,  my  friend,"  she 
said ;  "  but  now  that  no  harm  can  be  done  by  it,  it  seemed 
right  to  tell  you  I  knew." 
u  305 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  ought  never  to  have  drawn,"  said  Hugh,  hoarsely. 

"  No,"  said  Rachel.  ' (  He  was  in  fault  to  demand  such 
a  thing.  It  was  inhuman.  But  having  once  drawn  he 
had  to  abide  by  it,  as  you  would  have  done  if  you  had 
drawn  the  short  lighter." 

She  was  looking  earnestly  at  him,  as  at  one  given  back 
from  the  grave. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hugh,  feeling  she  expected  him  to  speak. 
"If  I  had  drawn  it  I  should  have  had  to  abide  by  it." 

"  I  thank  God  continually  that  you  did  not  draw  it. 
You  made  him  the  dreadful  reparation  he  asked.  If  it 
recoiled  upon  himself  you  were  not  to  blame.  You  have 
done  wrong,  and  you  have  repented.  You  have  suffered, 
Hugh.  I  know  it  by  your  face.  And  perhaps  I  have 
suffered  too,  but  that  is  past.  We  will  shut  up  the  past, 
and  think  of  the  future.  Promise  me  that  you  will  never 
speak  of  this  again." 

"I  promise,"  said  Hugh,  mechanically. 

"  The  moment  to  speak  is  past,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Had  it  ever  been  present. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

Dieu  n'oublie  personne.    II  visile  tout  le  monde. — VINET. 

HUGH  did  not  sleep  that  night. 

His  escape  had  been  too  narrow.  He  shivered  at  the 
mere  thought  of  it.  It  had  never  struck  him  as  possible 
that  Eachel  and  Lady  Newhaven  had  known  of  the  draw- 
ing of  lots.  Now  that  he  found  they  knew,  sundry  small 
incidents,  unnoticed  at  the  time,  came  crowding  back  to 
his  memory.  That  was  why  Lady  Newhaven  had  written 
so  continually  those  letters  which  he  had  burned  unread. 
That  was  why  she  had  made  that  desperate  attempt  to  see 
him  in  the  smoking-room  at  Wilderleigh  after  the  boating 
accident.  She  wanted  to  know  which  had  drawn  the 
short  lighter.  That  explained  the  mysterious  tension 
which  Hugh  had  noticed  in  Rachel  during  the  last  days 
in  London  before — before  the  time  was  up.  He  saw  it 
all  now.  And,  of  course,  they  naturally  supposed  that 
Lord  Newhaven  had  committed  suicide.  They  could  not 
think  otherwise.  They  were  waiting  for  one  of  the  two 
men  to  do  it. 

"  If  Lord  Newhaven  had  not  turned  giddy  and  stumbled 
on  to  the  line,  if  he  had  not  died  by  accident  when  he 
did,"  said  Hugh  to  himself,  "  where  should  I  be  now  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  that  question. 

What  was  the  use  of  asking  it  ?  He  was  dead.  And, 
fortunately,  the  two  women  firmly  believed  he  had  died 
by  his  own  hand.  Hugh  as  firmly  believed  that  the  death 
was  accidental. 

But  it  could  not  be  his  duty  to  set  them  right,  to  rake 
up  the  whole  hideous  story  again. 

307 


RED    POTTAGE 

By  an  extraordinary,  by  a  miraculous  chance,  he  was 
saved,  as  it  were,  a  second  time.  It  could  do  no  good  to 
allude  to  the  dreadful  subject  again.  Besides,  he  had 
promised  Rachel  never  to  speak  of  it  again. 

He  groane'd,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  coward  and  wretch  that  I  am,"  he  said.  "  Cannot 
I  even  be  honest  with  myself  ?  I  lied  to  her  to-day.  I 
never  thought  I  could  have  told  Rachel  a  lie,  but  I  did. 
I  can't  live  without  her.  I  must  have  her.  I  would 
rather  die  than  lose  her  now.  And  I  should  have  lost  her 
if  I'd  told  her  the  truth.  I  felt  that.  I  am  not  worthy. 
It  was  an  ill  day  for  her  when  she  took  my  tarnished  life 
into  her  white  hands.  She  ought  to  have  trodden  me 
under  foot.  But  she  does  love  me,  and  I  will  never  de- 
ceive her  again.  She  does  love  me,  and,  God  helping  me, 
I  will  make  her  happy." 

The  strain  of  conflict  was  upon  Hugh — the  old,  old 
conflict  of  the  seed  with  the  earth,  of  the  soul  with  love. 
How  many  little  fibres  and  roots  the  seed  puts  out,  pushed 
by  an  unrecognized  need  within  itself,  not  without  pain, 
not  without  a  gradual  rending  of  its  being,  not  without  a 
death  unto  self  into  a  higher  life.  Love  was  dealing  with 
Hugh's  soul  as  the  earth  deals  with  the  seed,  and — he 
suffered. 

It  was  a  man  who  did  not  look  like  an  accepted  lover 
who  presented  himself  at  Rachel's  door  the  following 
afternoon. 

But  Rachel  was  not  there.  Her  secretary  handed  Hugh 
a  little  note  which  she  had  left  for  him,  telling  him  that 
Hester  had  suddenly  fallen  ill,  and  that  she  had  been  sent 
for  to  Southminster.  The  note  ended:  "These  first 
quiet  days  are  past.  So  now  you  may  tell  your  mother, 
and  put  our  engagement  in  the  Morning  Post." 

Hugh  was  astonished  at  the  despair  which  overwhelmed 
him  at  the  bare  thought  that  he  should  not  see  Rachel 
that  day  and  not  the  next  either.  It  was  not  to  be  borne. 
She  had  no  right  to  make  him  suffer  like  this.  Day  by 
day,  when  a  certain  restless  fever  returned  upon  him,  he 

308 


UKI)    POTTAGE 

had  known,  us  an  opium-eater  knows,  that  at  a  certain 
hour  he  should  become  rested  and  calm  and  sane  once 
more.  To  be  in  the  same  room  with  Rachel,  to  hear  her 
voice,  to  let  his  eyes  dwell  upon  her,  to  lean  his  forehead 
for  a  moment  against  her  hand,  was  to  enter,  as  we  enter 
in  dreams,  a  world  of  joy  and  comfort,  and  boundless, 
endless,  all-pervading  peace. 

And  now  he  was  suddenly  left  shivering  in  a  bleak 
world  without  her.  With  her  he  was  himself,  a  released, 
freed  self,  growing  daily  further  and  further  away  from 
all  he  had  once  been.  Without  her  he  found  he  was  noth- 
ing but  a  fierce,  wounded  animal. 

He  tried  to  laugh  at  himself  as  he  walked  slowly  away 
from  Rachel's  house.  He  told  himself  that  he  was  absurd, 
that  an  absence  of  a  few  days  was  nothing.  He  turned 
his  steps  mechanically  in  the  direction  of  his  mother's 
lodgings.  At  any  rate,  he  could  tell  her.  He  could  talk 
about  this  cruel  woman  to  her.  The  smart  was  momenta- 
rily soothed  by  his  mother's  painful  joy.  He  wrenched 
himself  somewhat  out  of  himself  as  she  wept  the  tears  of 
jealous  love,  which  all  mothers  must  weep  when  the  woman 
comes  who  takes  their  son  away.  "I  am  so  glad,"  she 
kept  repeating.  "  These  are  tears  of  joy,  Hughie.  I  can 
forgive  her  for  accepting  you,  but  I  should  never  have  for- 
given her  if  she  had  refused  you — if  she  had  made  my  boy 
miserable.  And  you  have  been  miserable  lately.  I  have 
seen,  it  for  a  long  time.  I  suppose  it  was  all  this  coming 
on." 

He  said  it  was.  The  remembrance  of  other  causes  of 
irritation  and  moodiness  had  slipped  entirely  off  his  mind. 

He  stayed  a  long  time  with  his  mother,  who  pressed 
him  to  wait  till  his  sister,  who  was  shopping,  returned. 
But  his  sister  tarried  long  out-of-doors,  and  at  last  the 
pain  of  Rachel's  absence  returning  on  him,  he  left  sud- 
denly, promising  to  return  in  the  evening. 

He  did  not  go  back  to  his  rooms.  He  wandered  aim- 
lessly through  the  darkening  streets,  impatient  of  the  slow 
hours.  At  last  he  came  out  on  the  Embankment.  The 


RED    POTTAGE 

san  was  setting  redly,  frostily,  in  a  gray  world  of  sky-mist 
and  river-mist  and  spectral  bridge  and  spire.  A  shaking 
path-way  of  pale  flame  came  across  the  gray  of  the  hidden 
river  to  meet  him. 

He  stood  a  long  time  looking  at  it.  The  low  sun  touch- 
ed and  forsook,  touched  and  forsook  point  by  point  the 
little  crowded  world  which  it  was  leaving. 

"My  poor  mother,"  said  Hugh  to  himself.  "Poor, 
gentle,  loving  soul  whom  I  so  nearly  brought  down  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  She  will  never  know  what  an  escape 
she  has  had.  I  might  have  been  more  to  her.  I  might 
have  made  her  happier,  seeing  her  happiness  is  wrapped 
up  in  me.  I  will  make  up  to  her  for  it.  I  will  be  a  bet- 
ter son  to  her  in  future.  Rachel  and  I  together  will 
make  her  last  years  happy.  Rachel  and  I  together,"  said 
llugh,  over  and  over  again. 

And  then  he  suddenly  remembered  that  though  Rachel 
had  taken  herself  away  he  could  write  to  her,  and — he 
might  look  out  the  trains  to  Southminster.  He  leaped 
into  a  hansom  and  hurried  back  to  his  rooms. 

The  porter  met  him  in  a  mysterious  manner  in  the  en- 
trance. Lady  waiting  to  see  him.  Lady  said  she  was  his 
sister.  Had  been  waiting  two  hours.  In  his  rooms  now. 

Hugh  laughed,  and  ran  up  the  wide,  common  staircase. 
His  sister  had  heard  the  news  from  his  mother  and  had 
rushed  over  at  once. 

As  he  stooped  a  little  to  fit  the  latch-key  on  his  chain 
into  the  lock  a  man,  who  was  coming  down  the  stairs 
feeling  in  his  pockets,  stopped  with  a  sudden  exclamation. 
It  was  Captain  Pratt,  pallid,  smiling,  hair  newly  varnish- 
ed, resplendent  in  a  magnificent  fur  overcoat. 

"  What  luck,"  he  said.  "  Scarlett,  I  think.  We  met 
at  Wilderleigh.  Have  you  such  a  thing  as  a  match  about 
you  ?" 

Hugh  felt  in  his  pockets.     He  had  not  one. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  opening  the  door.  "  Fve  plenty 
inside.  Come  in." 

Hugh  went  in  first,  extricating  his  key.  Captain  Pratt 

310 


RED    POTTAGE 

followed,  murmuring,  "  Nice  little  dens,  these.  A  pal  of 
mine  lives  just  above — Streatham.  You  know  Streatham, 
son  of  Lord — " 

The  remainder  of  the  sentence  was  lost. 

The  door  opened  straight  into  the  little  sitting-room. 

A  woman  in  deep  mourning  rose  suddenly  out  of  a  chair 
by  the  fire  and  came  towards  them. 

"Hughie!"  she  said. 

It  was  Lady  Newhaven. 

It  is  probable  that  none  of  the  tableaux  she  had  arranged 
were  quite  so  dramatic  as  this  one,  in  which  she  had  not 
reckoned  on  that  elaborate  figure  in  the  door-way. 

Captain  Pratt's  opinion  of  Hugh,  whom  he  had  hitherto 
regarded  as  a  pauper  with  an  involved  estate,  leaped  from 
temperate  to  summer  heat — blood-heat.  After  the  first 
instant  he  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  Hugh. 

"  I — er — thank  you,  Scarlett.  I  have  found  my  matches. 
A  thousand  thanks.  Good-night." 

He  was  disappearing,  but  Hugh,  his  eyes  flashing  in  his 
gray  face,  held  him  forcibly  by  the  arm. 

"Lady  Newhaven,"  he  said,  "the  porter  is  inexcus- 
able. These  are  my  rooms  which  he  has  shown  you  into 
by  mistake,  not  Mr.  Streatham's,  your  nephew.  He  is  just 
above.  I  think,"  turning  to  Captain  Pratt,  "Streatham 
is  out  of  town." 

"  He  is  out  of  town,"  said  Captain  Pratt,  looking  with 
cold  admiration  at  Hugh.  "Admirable,"  he  said  to  him- 
self ;  "  a  born  gentleman." 

"This  is  not  the  first  time  Streatham's  visitors  have 
been  shown  in  here,"  continued  Hugh.  "  The  porter  shall 
be  dismissed.  I  trust  you  will  forgive  me  my  share  in  the 
annoyance  he  has  caused  you.  Is  your  carriage  waiting  ?" 

"No,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  faintly,  quite  thrown  off 
the  lines  of  her  prepared  scene  by  the  sudden  intrusion 
into  it  of  a  foreign  body. 

"My  hansom  is  below,"  said  Captain  Pratt,  deferen- 
tially, venturing,  now  that  the  situation  was,  so  to  speak, 
draped,  to  turn  his  discreet  agate  eyes  towards  LadyNew- 

311 


RED    POTTAGE 

haven.  ' e  If  it  could  be  of  the  least  use,  I  myself  should 
perfer  to  walk." 

Now  that  he  looked  at  her,  he  looked  very  hard  at  her. 
She  was  a  beautiful  woman. 

Lady  Newhaven's  self-possession  had  returned  suffi- 
ciently for  her  to  take  up  her  fur  cloak. 

"Thank  you/'  she  said,  letting  Captain  Pratt  help  her 
on  with  it.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  make  use  of  your  hansom, 
if  you  are  sure  you  can  spare  it.  I  am  shocked  at  having 
taken  possession  of  your  rooms,"  turning  to  Hugh  ;  "I 
will  write  to  Georgie  Streatham  to-night.  I  am  staying 
with  my  mother,  and  I  came  across  to  ask  him  to  take  my 
boys  to  the  pantomime,  as  I  cannot  take  them  myself — so 
soon,"  with  a  glance  at  her  crape.  "Don't  come  down, 
Mr.  Scarlett.  I  have  given  you  enough  trouble  already." 

Captain  Pratt's  arm  was  crooked.  He  conducted  her  in 
his  best  manner  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase  and  helped  her 
into  his  hansom.  His  manner  was  not  so  unctuous  as  his 
father's,  but  it  was  slightly  adhesive.  Lady  Newhaven 
shuddered  involuntarily  as  she  took  his  arm. 

Hugh  followed. 

"  I  hope  you  will  both  come  and  see  my  mother,"  she 
said,  with  an  attempt  at  graciousness.  "  You  know  Lady 
Trentham,  I  think  ?"— to  Captain  Pratt. 

"  Very  slightly.  No.  Delighted  !"  murmured  Captain 
Pratt,  closing  the  hansom  doors  in  an  intimate  manner. 
<(  And  if  I  could  be  of  the  least  use  at  any  time  in  taking 
your  boys  to  the  pantomime — er — only  too  glad.  The 
glass  down,  Richards  !" 

The  hansom  with  its  splendid  bay  horse  rattled  off. 

Captain  Pratt  nodded  to  Hugh,  who  was  still  standing 
on  the  steps,  and  turned  away  to  buy  a  box  of  matches 
from  a  passing  urchin.  Then  he  turned  up  his  fur  collar, 
and  proceeded  leisurely  on  his  way. 

"Very  stand-off  both  of  them  in  the  past,"  he  said  to 
himself,  ' '  but  they  will  have  to  be  civil  in  future.  I 
wonder  if  he  will  make  her  keep  her  title.  Deuced  awk- 
ward for  them  both  though,  only  a  month  after  New- 

312 


RED    POTTAGE 

haven's  death.  I  wish  that  sort  of  contre-temps  would 
happen  to  me  when  Fm  bringing  in  a  lot  of  fellows  sud- 
denly. An  opening  like  that  is  all  I  want  to  give  me  a 
start,  and  I  should  get  on  as  well  as  anybody.  The  aris- 
tocracy all  hang  together,  whatever  Selina  and  Ada  may 
say.  Money  don't  buy  everything,  as  the  governor  thinks. 
But  if  you're  once  in  with  'em  you're  in." 

Hugh  went  back  to  his  room  and  locked  himself  in.  He 
was  a  delicate  man,  highly  strung,  and  he  had  not  slept 
the  night  before.  He  collapsed  into  a  chair  and  remained 
a  long  time,  his  head  in  his  hands. 

It  was  too  horrible,  this  woman  coming  back  upon  him 
suddenly,  like  the  ghost  of  some  one  whom  he  had  mur- 
dered. His  momentary  infatuation  had  been  clean  for- 
gotten in  his  overwhelming  love  for  Rachel.  His  intrigue 
with  Lady  Newhaven  seemed  so  long  ago  that  it  had  been 
relegated  to  the  same  mental  shelf  in  his  mind  as  the  nib- 
bling of  a  certain  forbidden  ginger-bread  when  he  was 
home  for  his  first  holidays.  He  could  not  be  held  respon- 
sible for  either  offence  after  this  immense  interval  of  time. 
It  was  not  he  who  had  committed  them,  but  that  other 
embryo  self,  that  envelope  of  flesh  and  sense  which  he 
was  beginning  to  abhor,  through  which  he  had  passed 
before  he  reached  himself,  Hugh,  the  real  man — the  man 
who  loved  Rachel,  and  whom  Rachel  loved. 

He  had  not  flinched  when  he  came  unexpectedly  on 
Lady  Newhaven.  At  the  sight  of  her  a  sudden  passion 
of  anger  shot  up  and  enveloped  him  as  in  one  flame  from 
head  to  foot.  His  love  for  Rachel  was  a  weapon,  and  he 
used  it.  He  did  not  greatly  care  about  his  own  good 
name,  but  the  good  name  of  the  man  whom  Rachel  loved 
was  a  thing  to  fight  for.  It  was  for  her  sake,  not  Lady 
Newhaven's,  that  he  had  concocted  the  story  of  the  mis- 
taken rooms.  He  should  not  have  had  the  presence  of 
mind  if  Rachel  had  not  been  concerned. 

He  had  not  finished  with  Lady  Newhaven.  He  should 
have  trouble  yet  with  her,  hideous  scenes,  in  which  the 

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corpse  of  his  dead  lust  would  be  dragged  up,  a  thing  to 
shudder  at,  out  of  its  nettly  grave. 

He  could  bear  it.  He  must  bear  it.  Nothing  would 
induce  him  to  marry  Lady  Newhaven,  as  she  evidently 
expected.  He  set  his  teeth.  •"  She  will  know  the  day 
after  to-morrow,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  when  she  sees  my 
engagement  to  Rachel  in  the  papers.  Then  she  will  get 
at  me  somehow,  and  make  my  life  a  hell  to  me,  while  she 
can.  And  she  will  try  and  come  between  me  and  Rachel. 
I  deserve  it.  I  deserve  anything  I  get.  But  Rachel 
knows,  and  will  stick  to  me.  I  will  go  down  to  her  to- 
morrow. I  can't  go  on  without  seeing  her.  And  she 
won't  mind,  as  the  engagement  will  be  given  out  next 
day." 

He  became  more  composed  at  the  thought  of  Rachel. 
But  presently  his  lip  quivered.  It  would  be  all  right  in 
the  end.  But,  oh !  not  to  have  done  it !  Not  to  have 
done  it!  To  have  come  to  his  marriage  with  a  whiter  past, 
not  to  need  her  forgiveness  on  the  very  threshold  of  their 
life  together,  not  to  have  been  unfaithful  to  her  before 
he  knew  her. 

What  man  who  has  disbelieved  in  his  youth  in  the 
sanctity  of  Love,  and  then  later  has  knelt  in  its  Holy  of 
Holies,  has  escaped  that  pang? 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

There's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor  good-fellowship  in  thee. 
— SHAKESPEARE 

"  MY  mind  misgives  me,  Dick  !"  said  the  Bishop,  a  day 
or  two  later,  as  Dick  joined  him  and  his  sister  and  Eachel 
at  luncheon  at  the  Palace.  "  I  am  convinced  that  you 
have  been  up  to  some  mischief." 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  Warpington,  my  lord.  I 
understood  it  was  your  wish  I  should  ride  over  and  tell 
them  Hester  was  better." 

(f  It  certainly  was  my  wish.  Fm  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  But  I  remembered  after  you  had  gone  that  you  had 
refused  to  speak  to  Grusley  when  he  was  over  here,  and  I 
was  sorry  I  sent  you." 

"  I  spoke  to  him  all  right,"  said  Dick,  grimly.  "  That 
was  why  I  was  so  alacritous  to  go." 

The  Bishop  looked  steadily  at  him. 

"Until  you  are  my  suffragan  I  should  prefer  to  manage 
my  own  business  with  my  clergy." 

"Just  so,"  said  Dick,  helping  himself  to  mustard.  "  But, 
you  see,  Fm  his  cousin,  and  I  thought  it  just  as  well  to 
let  him  know  quietly  and  dispassionately  what  I  thought 
of  him.  So  I  told  him  I  was  not  particular  about  my  ac- 
quaintances. I  knew  lots  of  bad  eggs  out  in  Australia, 
half  of  them  hatched  in  England,  chaps  who'd  been 
shaved  and  tubbed  gratis  by  Government  —  in  fact,  Fd 
a  large  visiting  list,  but  that  I  drew  the  line  at  such  a 
cad  as  him,  and  that  he  might  remember  I  wasn't  going 
to  preach  for  him  at  any  more  of  his  little  cold  -  water 


ever  take  any  notice  of  him  in  future.     That  was  what 

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RED    POTTAGE 

he  wanted,  my  lord.  You  were  too  soft  with  him,  if  you'll 
excuse  my  saying  so.  But  that  sort  of  chap  wants  it  giv- 
ing him  hot  and  strong.  He  doesn't  understand  anything 
else.  He  gets  quite  beyond  himself,  fizzing  about  on  his 
little  pocket-handkerchief  of  a  parish,  thinking  he  is  a 
sort  of  god,  because  no  one  makes  it  their  business  to 
keep  him  in  his  place,  and  rub  it  into  him  that  he  is 
an  infernal  fool.  That  is  why  some  clergymen  jaw  so, 
because  they  never  have  it  brought  home  to  them  what 
rot  they  talk.  They'd  be  no  sillier  than  other  men  if 
they  were  only  treated  properly.  I  was  very  calm,  but 
I  let  him  have  it.  I  told  him  he  was  a  mean  sneak, 
and  that  either  he  was  the  biggest  fool  or  the  biggest 
rogue  going,  and  that  the  mere  fact  of  his  cloth  did  not 
give  him  the  right  to  do  dishonest  things  with  other  peo- 
ple's property,  though  it  did  save  him  from  the  pounding 
he  richly  deserved.  He  tried  to  interrupt ;  indeed,  he 
was  tooting  all  the  time  like  a  fog-horn,  but  I  did  not 
take  any  notice,  and  I  wound  up  by  saying  it  was  men 
like  him  who  brought  discredit  on  the  Church  and  on  the 
clergy,  and  who  made  the  gorge  rise  of  decent  chaps  like 
me.  Yes/'  said  Dick,  after  a  pause,  "when  I  left  him  he 
understood,  I  don't  say  entirely,  but  he  had  a  distant 
glimmering.  It  isn't  often  I  go  on  these  errands  of  mercy, 
but  I  felt  that  the  least  I  could  do  was  to  back  you  up,  my 
lord.  Of  course,  it  is  in  little  matters  like  this  that  lay 
helpers  come  in,  who  are  not  so  hampered  about  their  lan- 
guage as  I  suppose  the  clergy  are." 

The  Bishop  tried,  he  tried  hard,  to  look  severe,  but  his 
mouth  twitched. 

"  Don't  thank  me,"  said  Dick.  "  Nothing  is  a  trouble 
where  you  are  concerned.  It  was — ahem. — a  pleasure." 

"That  I  can  believe,"  said  the  Bishop.  "Well,  Dick, 
Providence  makes  use  of  strange  instruments — the  jaw- 
bone of  an  ass  has  a  certain  Scriptural  prestige.  I  dare 
say  you  reached  poor  Gusley  where  I  failed.  I  certainly 
failed.  But,  if  it  is  not  too  much  to  ask,  I  should  regard 
it  as  a  favor  another  time  if  I  might  be  informed  be- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

forehand  what  direction  your  diocesan  aid  was  about  to 
take." 

Dr.  Brown,  who  often  came  to  luncheon  at  the  Palace, 
came  in  now.  He  took  off  his  leathern  driving-gloves  and 
held  his  hands  to  the  fire. 

"Cold/'  he  said.  "  They're  skating  everywhere.  How 
is  Miss  Gusley?" 

"  She  knows  us  to-day,"  said  Rachel,  "and  she  is  quite 
cheerful." 

"Does  the  poor  thing  know  her  book  is  burned  ?" 

"No.  She  was  speaking  this  morning  of  its  coming  out 
in  the  spring." 

The  little  doctor  thrust  out  his  underlip  and  changed 
the  subject. 

"  I  travelled  from  Pontcsbury  this  morning,"  he  said, 
"  with  that  man  who  was  nearly  drowned  at  Beaumere  in 
the  summer.  I  doctored  him  at  Wilderleigh.  Tall,  thin, 
rather  a  fine  gentleman.  I  forget  his  name." 

Dr.  Brown  always  spoke  of  men  above  himself  in  the 
social  scale  as  "fine  gentlemen." 

"  Mr.  Redman,"  said  Miss  Keane,  the  Bishop's  sister, 
a  dignified  person,  who  had  been  hampered  through- 
out life  by  a  predilection  for  the  wrong  name,  and  by 
making  engagements  in  illegible  handwriting  by  last  year's 
almanacs. 

"Was  it  Mr.  Scarlett?"  said  Rachel,  feeling  Dick's  lynx 
eye  upon  her.  "  I  was  at  Wilderleigh  when  the  accident 
happened." 

"That's  the  man.  He  got  out  at  Southminster,  and 
asked  me  which  was  the  best  hotel.  No,  I  won't  have 
any  more,  thanks.  I'll  go  up  and  see  Miss  Gusley  at 
once." 

Rachel  fpllowed  the  Bishop  into  the  library.  They  gen- 
erally waited  there  together  till  the  doctor  came  down. 

"  I  don't  know  many  young  men  I  like  better  than 
Dick,"  said  the  Bishop.  " I  should  marry  him  if  I  were  a 
young  woman.  I  admire  the  way  he  acts  up  to  his  prin- 
ciples. Very  few  of  us  do.  Until  he  has  a  further  light 

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RED    POTTAGE 

on  the  subject,  he  is  right  to  knock  a  man  down  who  in- 
sults him.  And  from  his  point  of  view  he  was  justified  in 
speaking  to  Mr.  Gusley  as  he  did.  I  was  sorely  tempted 
to  say  something  of  that  kind  to  him  myself,  but  as  one 
grows  gray  one  realizes  that  one  can  only  speak  in  a  spirit 
of  love.  A  man  of  Dick's  stamp  will  always  be  respected, 
because  he  does  not  assume  virtues  which  belong  to  a 
higher  grade  than  he  is  on  at  present.  But  when  he 
reaches  that  higher  grade  he  will  act  as  thoroughly  upon 
the  convictions  that  accompany  it  as  he  does  now  on  his 
present  convictions." 

"  He  certainly  would  not  turn  the  other  cheek  to  the 
smiter." 

"I  should  not  advise  the  smiter  to  reckon  on  it.  And 
unless  it  is  turned  from  that  rare  sense  of  spiritual  broth- 
erhood it  would  be  unmanly  to  turn  it.  To  imitate  the 
outward  appeararTce  of  certain  virtues  is  like  imitating 
the  clothes  of  a  certain  class.  It  does  not  make  us  belong 
to  the  class  to  dress  like  it.  The  true  foundation  for 
the  spiritual  life,  as  far  as  I  can  see  it,  is  in  the  full  de- 
velopment of  our  human  nature  with  all  its  simple  trusts 
and  aspirations.  I  admire  Dick's  solid  foundation.  It 
will  carry  a  building  worthy  of  him  some  day.  But  my 
words  of  wisdom  appear  to  be  thrown  away  upon  you. 
You  are  thinking  of  something  else." 

"  I  was  thinking  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  en- 
gaged to  be  married." 

The  Bishop's  face  lit  up. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Scarlett.  That  is  why  he  has 
come  down  here." 

The  Bishop's  face  fell.  Rachel  had  been  three  days  at 
the  Palace.  Dick  had  not  allowed  the  grass  to  grow  under 
his  feet.  ee  That  admirable  promptitude,"  the  Bishop 
had  remarked  to  himself,  "  deserves  success." 

"  Poor,  dear  Dick,"  he  said,  softly. 

"  That  is  what  Hester  says.     I  told  her  yesterday." 

"  I  really  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Dick,"  said  the 
Bishop. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  So  have  I.  If  I  might  have  two  I  would  certainly 
choose  him  second." 

"  But  this  superfluous  Mr.  Scarlett  comes  first,  eh  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  does." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Bishop,  with  a  sigh,  "  if  you  are  so 
ungrateful  as  to  marry  to  please  yourself,  instead  of  to 
please  me,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  I  will  have 
a  look  at  your  Mr.  Scarlett  when  he  comes  to  tea.  I  sup- 
pose he  will  come  to  tea.  I  notice  the  most  farouche  men  do 
when  they  are  engaged.  It  is  the  first  step  in  the  taming 
process.  I  shall,  of  course,  bring  an  entirely  unprej- 
udiced mind  to  bear  upon  him,  as  I  always  make  a  point 
of  doing,  but  I  warn  you  beforehand  I  shan't  like  him." 

"  Because  he  is  not  Mr.  Dick." 

"Well,  yes;  because  he  is  not  Dick.  I  suppose  his 
name  is  Bertie." 

"  Not  Bertie,"  said  Rachel,  indignantly,  "  Hugh." 

"  It's  a  poor,  inefficient  kind  of  name,  only  four  letters, 
and  a  duplicate  at  each  end.  I  don't  think,  my  dear,  he 
is  worthy  of  you." 

"  Dick  has  only  four  letters." 

"  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  argue  with  women.  Well, 
Rachel,  I'm  glad  you  have  decided  to  marry.  Heaven 
bless  you,  and  may  you  be  happy  with  this  man.  Ah ! 
here  comes  Dr.  Brown." 

"  Well !"  said  the  Bishop  and  Rachel,  simultaneously. 

"She's  better,"  said  the  little  doctor,  angrily;  he  was 
always  angry  when  he  was  anxious.  "  She's  round  the 
first  corner.  But  how  to  pull  her  round  the  next  corner, 
that  is  what  I'm  thinking." 

"Defer  the  next  corner." 

"  We  can't  now  her  mind  is  clear.  She's  as  sane  as 
you  or  I  are,  and  a  good  deal  sharper.  When  she  asks 
about  her  book  she'll  have  to  be  told." 

"  A  lie  would  be  quite  justifiable  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  but  it  would  be  useless.  You 
might  hoodwink  her  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  she  would 

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RED    POTTAGE 

find  out,  first,  that  the  magnum  opus  is  gone,  and  second- 
ly, that  you  and  Miss  West,  whom  she  does  trust  entirely 
at  present,  have  deceived  her.  You  know  what  she  is  when 
she  thinks  she  is  being  deceived.  She  abused  you  well, 
my  lord,  until  you  reinstated  yourself  by  producing  Regie 
Gusley.  But  you  can't  reinstate  yourself  a  second  time. 
You  can't  produce  the  book." 

"  No,"  said  the  Bishop.     "That  is  gone  forever." 

Rachel  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak.  Perhaps  she 
had  realized  more  fully  than  even  the  Bishop  had  done 
what  the  loss  of  the  book  was  to  Hester,  at  least,  what  it 
would  be  when  she  knew  it  was  gone. 

"  Tell  her,  and  give  her  that  if  she  becomes  excitable/' 
said  Dr.  Brown,  producing  a  minute  bottle  out  of  a 
voluminous  pocket.  "  And  if  you  want  me  I  shall  be  at 
Canon  Wylde's  at  five  o'clock.  I'll  look  in  anyhow  be- 
fore  I  go  home." 

Rachel  and  the  Bishop  stood  a  moment  in  silence  after 
he  was  gone,  and  then  Rachel  took  up  the  little  bottle, 
read  the  directions  carefully,  and  turned  to  go  up-stairs. 

The  Bishop  looked  after  her,  but  did  not  speak.  He 
was  sorry  for  her. 

"  You  can  go  out  till  tea-time,"  said  Rachel,  to  the 
nurse.  "  I  will  stay  with  Miss  Gusley  till  then." 

Hester  was  lying  on  a  couch  by  the  fire  in  a  rose-colored 
wrapper.  Her  small  face,  set  in  its  ruffle  of  soft  lace, 
looked  bright  and  eager.  Her  hair  had  been  cut  short, 
and  she  looked  younger  and  more  like  Regie  than  ever. 

Her  thin  hands  lay  contentedly  in  her  lap.  The  prin- 
cipal bandages  were  gone.  Only  three  fingers  of  the  right 
hand  were  in  a  chrysalis  state. 

"I  shall  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  get  well,"  she 
said  to  Rachel.  "  If  I  do  you  will  rush  away  to  London 
and  get  married. 

"Shall  I?"  Rachel  set  down  the  little  bottle  on  the 
mantel-piece. 

"  When  is  Mr.  Scarlett  coming  down  ?" 

"  He  came  down  to-day." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  Then  possibly  he  may  call." 

"Such  things  do  happen." 

"  I  shoald  like  to  see  him." 

"  In  a  day  or  two,  perhaps." 

"  And  I  want  to  see  dear  Dick,  too." 

"  He  sent  you  his  love.  Mr.  Pratt  was  here  at  Inncheon 
yesterday,  and  he  asked  me  who  the  old  chap  was  who  put 
on  his  clothes  with  a  shoe-horn." 

"  How  like  him !  Has  he  said  anything  more  to  the 
Bishop  on  the  uses  of  swearing?" 

"  No.  But  the  Bishop  draws  him  on.  He  delights  in 
him." 

"Rachel,  are  you  sure  you  have  chosen  the  best  man  ?" 

"  Quite  sure — I  mean  I  never  had  any  choice  in  the 
matter.  You  see  I  love  Hugh,  and  I'm  only  fond  of  Mr. 
Dick." 

"I 'always  liked  Mr.  Scarlett,"  said  Hester.  "I've 
known  him  ever  since  I  came  out,  and  that  wasn't  yester- 
day. He  is  so  gentle  and  refined,  and  one  need  not  be  on 
one's  guard  in  talking  to  him.  He  understands  what  one 
says,  and  he  is  charming  looking." 

"  Of  course,  I  think  so." 

"And  this  is  the  genuine  thing,  Rachel  ?  Do  you  re- 
member out  talk  last  summer  ?" 

Rachel  was  silent  a  moment. 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "that  I  thank 
God,  day  and  night,  that  Mr.  Tristram  did  not  marry  me 
— that  I'm  free  to  marry  Hugh." 

Hester's  uncrippled  hand  stole  into  Rachel's. 

"  Everybody  will  think,"  said  Rachel,  "  when  they  see 
the  engagement  in  to-morrow's  papers  that  I  give  him 
everything  because  he  is  poor  and  his  place  involved,  and 
of  course  I  am  horribly  wealthy.  But  in  reality  it  is  I 
who  am  poor  and  he  who  is  rich.  He  has  given  me  a 
thousand  times  more  than  I  could  ever  give  him,  because 
he  has  given  me  back  the  power  of  loving.  It  almost 
frightens  me  that  I  can  care  so  much  a  second  time.  I 
should  not  have  thought  it  possible.  But  I  seem  to  have 
x  321 


RED    POTTAGE 

got  the  hang  of  it  now,  as  Mr.  Dick  would  say.  I  wish  you 
were  down-stairs,  Hester,  as  you  will  be  in  a  day  or  two. 
You  would  be  amused  by  the  way  he  shocks  Miss  Keane. 
She  asked  if  he  had  written  anything  on  his  travels,  and 
he  said  he  was  on  the  point  of  bringing  out  a  little  book 
on  '  Cannibal  Cookery/  for  the  use  of  Colonials.  He  said 
some  of  the  recipes  were  very  simple.  He  began :  f  You 
take  a  hand  and  close  it  round  a  yam.'  But  the  Bishop 
stopped  him." 

The  moment  Rachel  had  said,  "He  is  on  the  point  of* 
bringing  out  a  book,"  her  heart  stood  still.  How  could 
she  have  said  such  a  thing  ?  But  apparently  Hester  took 
no  notice. 

"  He  must  have  been  experimenting  on  my  poor  hand," 
she  said.  "I'm  sure  I  never  burned  it  like  this  myself." 

"It  will  soon  be  better  now." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mind  about  it  now  that  it  doesn't  hurt  all 
the  time." 

"And  your  head  does  not  ache  to-day,  does  it?" 

"  Nothing  to  matter.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  had  fallen  on 
it  from  the  top  of  the  cathedral.  Dr.  Brown  says  that  is 
nonsense,  but  I  think  so  all  the  same.  When  you  believe 
a  thing,  and  you're  told  it's  nonsense,  and  you  still  be- 
lieve it,  that  is  an  hallucination,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

<(  I  have  had  a  great  many,"  said  Hester,  slowly.  "  I 
suppose  I  have  been  more  ill  than  I  knew.  I  thought  I 
saw,  I  really  did  see,  the  spirits  of  the  frost  and  the  snow 
looking  in  at  the  window.  And  I  talked  to  them  a  long 
time,  and  asked  them  what  quarrel  they  had  with  me, 
their  sister,  that  since  I  was  a  child  they  had  always  been 
going  about  to  kill  me.  Aunt  Susan  always  seemed  to 
think  they  were  enemies  who  gave  me  bronchitis.  And  I 
told  them  how  I  loved  them  and  all  their  works.  And 
they  breathed  on  the  pane  and  wrote  beautiful  things  in 
frost-work,  and  I  read  them  all.  Now,  Rachel,  is  that  an 
hallucination  about  the  frost-work,  because  it  seems  to 
me  still,  now  that  I  am  better,  though  I  can't  explain  it, 

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RED    POTTAGE 

that  I  do  see  the  meaning  of  it  at  last,  and  that  I  shall 
never  be  afraid  of  them  again." 

Rachel  did  not  answer. 

She  had  long  since  realized  that  Hester,  when  in  her 
normal  condition,  saw  things  which  she  herself  did  not 
see.  She  had  long  since  realized  that  Hester  always  ac- 
cepted as  final  the  limit  of  vision  of  the  person  she  was 
with,  but  that  that  limit  changed  with  every  person  she 
met.  Rachel  had  seen  her  adjust  it  to  persons  more  short- 
sighted than  herself,  with  secret  self-satisfaction,  and  then 
with  sudden  bewilderment  had  heard  Hester  accept  as  a 
commonplace  from  some  one  else  what  appeared  to  Rachel 
fantastic  in  the  extreme.  If  Rachel  had  considered  her 
own  mind  as  the  measure  of  the  normal  of  all  other  minds, 
she  could  not  have  escaped  the  conclusion  that  Hester 
was  a  victim  of  manifold  delusions.  But,  fortunately  for 
herself,  she  saw  that  most  ladders  possessed  more  than 
the  one  rung  on  which  she  was  standing. 

"  That  is  quite  different,  isn't  it,"  said  Hester,  "  from 
thinking  Dr.  Brown  is  a  gray  wolf  ?" 

"  Quite  different.  That  was  an  hallucination  of  fever. 
You  see  that  for  yourself  now  that  you  have  no  fever." 

"I  see  that,  of  course,  now  that  I  have  no  fever,"  re- 
peated Hester,  her  eyes  widening.  "  But  one  hallucina- 
tion quite  as  foolish  as  that  is  always  coming  back,  and  I 
can't  shake  it  off.  The  wolf  was  gone  directly,  but  this 
is  just  the  same  now  I  am  better,  only  it  gets  worse  and 
worse.  I  have  never  spoken  of  it  to  any  one,  because  I 
know  it  is  so  silly.  But  Rachel — I  have  no  fever  now — 
and  yet — I  know  you'll  laugh  at  me — I  laugh  at  my  own 
foolish  self— and  yet  all  the  time  I  have  a  horrible  feeling 
that  " — Hester's  eyes  had  in  them  a  terror  that  was  hardly 
human — "  that  my  book  is  burned." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

The  soul  of  thy  brother  is  a  dark  forest. 
— Russian  Proverb. 

"  A  MARRIAGE  has  been  arranged,  and  will  shortly  take 
place,  between  Hugh  St.  John  Scarlett,  of  Kenstone 
Manor,  Shropshire,  only  son  of  the  late  Lord  Henry  Scar- 
lett, and  Kachel,  only  child  of  the  late  Joshua  Hopkins 
West,  of  Birmingham." 

This  announcement  appeared  in  the  Morning  Post  a 
few  days  after  Christmas,  and  aroused  many  different 
emotions  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  read  it. 

"She  has  done  it  to  spite  me/'  said  Mr.  Tristram  to 
himself  over  his  morning  rasher,  in  the  little  eating-house 
near  his  studio.  "I  knew  there  was  some  one  else  in  her 
mind  when  she  refused  me.  I  rather  thought  it  was  that 
weedy  fellow  with  the  high  nose.  Will  he  make  her 
happy  because  he  is  a  lord's  son  ?  That  is  what  I  should 
like  to  ask  her.  Poor  Eachel,  if  we  had  been  able  to 
marry  five  years  ago  we  should  never  have  heard  of  this 
society  craze.  Well,  it's  all  over  now."  And  Mr.  Tristram 
henceforward  took  the  position  of  a  man  suffering  from 
an  indelible  attachment  to  a  woman  who  had  thrown  him 
over  for  a  title. 

The  Gusleys  were  astonished  at  the  engagement.  It 
was  so  extraordinary  that  they  should  know  both  persons. 
Now  that  they  came  to  think  of  it,  both  of  them  had  been 
to  tea  at  the  Vicarage  only  last  summer. 

<(  A  good  many  people  pop  in  and  out  of  this  house," 
they  agreed. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  am  as  certain  as  that  I  stand  here,"  said  Mr.  Gus- 
ley, who  was  sitting  down,  "  that  that  noisy  boor,  that 
underbred,  foul-mouthed  Dick  Vernon  wanted  to  marry 
her." 

"Don't  mention  him,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley.  "  When  I 
think  of  what  he  dared  to  say — " 

"  My  love,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "  I  have  forgiven  him.  I 
have  put  from  my  mind  all  he  said,  for  I  am  convinced 
he  was  under  the  influence  of  drink  at  the  time.  We 
must  make  allowance  for  those  who  live  in  hot  climates. 
I  bear  him  no  grudge.  But  I  am  glad  that  a  man  of  that 
stamp  should  not  marry  Miss  West.  Drunkenness  makes 
a  hell  of  married  life.  Mr.  Scarlett,  though  he  looked 
delicate,  had  at  least  the  appearance  of  being  abstemi- 
ous." 

Fraulein  heard  the  news  as  she  was  packing  her  boxes  to 
leave  Warpington  Vicarage.  She  was  greatly  depressed. 
She  could  not  be  with  her  dear  Miss  Gusley  in  this  mys- 
terious illness  which  some  secret  sorrow  had  brought  upon 
her ;  but  at  least  Miss  West  could  minister  to  her.  And 
now  it  seemed  Miss  West  was  thinking  of  "  Braiitigams  " 
more  than  of  Hester. 

Fraulein  had  been  very  uncomfortable  at  the  Vicarage, 
but  she  wept  at  leaving.  Mrs.  Gusley  had  never  attained 
to  treating  her  with  the  consideration  which  she  would 
have  accorded  to  one  whom  she  considered  her  equal. 
The  servants  were  allowed  to  disregard  with  impunity  her 
small  polite  requests.  The  nurse  was  consistently,  fero- 
ciously jealous  of  her.  But  the  children  had  made  up  for 
all,  and  now  she  was  leaving  them ;  and  she  did  not  own 
it  to  herself,  for  she  was  but  five-and-thirty  and  the  shy- 
est of  the  shy;  but  she  should  see  no  more  that  noble- 
hearted,  that  musical  Herr  B-r-r-rown. 
• 

"Doll,"  said  Sybell  Loftus  to  her  husband  at  breakfast, 
"  Fve  made  another  match.  I  thought  at  the  time  he 
liked  her.  You  remember  Rachel  West,  not  pretty,  but 

325 


RED    POTTAGE 

with  a  nice  expression — and  what  does  beauty  matter  ? 
She  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Scarlett." 

"Quiet,  decent  chap/'  said  Doll;  "  and  I  like  her.  No 
nonsense  about  her.  Good  thing  he  wasn't  drowned." 

"!Mr.  Hervey  will  feel  it.  He  confided  to  me  that  she 
was  his  ideal.  Now  Eachel  is  everything  that  is  sweet 
and  good  and  dear,  and  she  will  make  a  most  excellent 
wife,  but  I  should  never  have  thought,  would  you,  that 
she  could  be  anybody's  ideal  ?" 

Doll  opened  his  mouth  to  say,  "  That  depends,"  but  re- 
membered that  his  wife  had  taken  an  unaccountable  dis- 
like to  that  simple  phrase,  and  remained  slient. 

Captain  Pratt,  who  was  spending  Christmas  with  his 
family,  was  the  only  person  at  Warpington  Towers  who 
read  the  papers.  On  this  particular  morning  he  came 
down  to  a  late  breakfast  after  the  others  had  finished. 
His  father,  who  was  always  down  at  eight,  secretly  ad- 
mired his  son's  aristocratic  habits,  while  he  affected  to 
laugh  at  them.  "Shameful  luxurious  ways,  these  young 
men  in  the  Guards.  Fashionable  society  is  rotten,  sir; 
rotten  to  the  core.  Never  get  up  till  noon.  My  boy  is 
as  bad  as  any  of  them." 

Captain  Pratt  propped  up  the  paper  open  before  him 
while  he  sipped  his  coffee  and  glanced  down  the  columns. 
His  travelling  eye  reached  Hugh's  engagement. 

Captain  Pratt  rarely  betrayed  any  feeling  except  ennui, 
but  as  he  read,  astonishment  got  the  better  of  him. 

"  By  George  !"  he  said,  below  his  breath. 

The  bit  of  omelette  on  its  way  to  his  mouth  was  slowly 
lowered  again,  and  remained  sticking  on  the  end  of  his 
fork. 

What  did  it  mean  9  He  recalled  that  scene  in  Hugh's 
rooms  only  last  week.  He  had  spoken  of  it  to  no  one,  for 
he  intended  to  earn  gratitude  by  his  discretion.  Of  course, 
Scarlett  was  going  to  marry  Lady  Newhaven  after  a  de- 
cent interval.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  with  a 
large  jointure,  and  she  was  obviously  in  love  with  him. 

326 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  question  of  her  conduct  was  not  considered.  It  never 
entered  Captain  Pratt's  head,  any  more  than  that  of  a  ten- 
year-old  child.  He  was  aware  that  all  the  women  of  the 
upper  classes  were  immoral,  except  newly  come-out  girls. 
That  was  an  established  fact.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween the  individuals,  which  caused  a  separation  as  of 
the  sheep  from  the  goats,  was  whether  they  were  compro- 
mised or  not.  Lady  Newhaven  was  not,  unless  he  chose  to 
compromise  her.  No  breath  of  scandal  had  ever  touched 
her. 

But  what  was  Scarlett  about  ?  Could  they  have  quar- 
relled ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  And  what  would  she  do  now  9 

"  By  George  I"  said  Captain  Pratt,  again,  and  the  agate 
eyes  narrowed  down  to  two  slits. 

He  sat  a  long  time  motionless,  his  untasted  breakfast 
before  him.  His  mind  was  working,  weighing,  applying 
now  its  scales,  now  its  thermometer. 

Rachel  and  Hugh  were  sitting  together  looking  at  a 
paragraph  in  the  Morning  Post. 

"Does  Miss  Gusley  take  any  interest  ?"  said  Hugh. 

He  was  a  little  jealous  of  Hester.  This  illness,  the  cause 
of  which  had  sincerely  grieved  him,  had  come  at  an  inop- 
portune moment.  Hester  was  always  taking  Rachel  from 
him. 

"Yes,"  said  Rachel,  "a  little  when  she  remembers. 
But  she  can  only  think  of  one  thing." 

"That  unhappy  book." 

"  Yes.  I  think  the  book  was  to  Hester  something 
of  what  you  are  to  me.  Her  whole  heart  was  wrapped 
up  in  it — and  she  has  lost  it.  Hugh,  whatever  happens, 
you  must  not  be  lost  now.  It  is  too  late.  I  could  not 
bear  it." 

"  I  can  only  be  lost  if  you  throw  me  away,"  said  Hugh. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Lady  Newhaven  will  know  to-day,"  said  Rachel  at 
last.  "  I  tried  to  break  it  to  her,  but  she  did  not  believe 
me." 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"Rachel/'  said  Hugh,  stammering,  "I  meant  to  tell 
you  the  other  day,  only  we  were  interrupted,  that  she 
came  to  my  rooms  the  evening  before  I  came  down  here. 
I  should  not  have  minded  quite  so  much,  hut  Captain  Pratt 
came  in  with  me  and — found  her  there." 

"  Oh  Hugh,  that  dreadful  man !     Poor  woman!" 

"  Poor  woman !"  said  Hugh,  his  eyes  flashing.  "  It  was 
poor  you  I  thought  of.  Poor  Rachel !  to  be  marrying  a 
man  who — " 

There  was  another  silence. 

"I  have  one  great  compensation,"  said  Rachel,  laying 
her  cool,  strong  hand  on  his.  "You  are  open  with  me. 
You  keep  nothing  back.  You  need  not  have  mentioned 
this  unlucky  meeting,  but  you  did.  It  was  like  you.  I 
trust  you  entirely,  Hugh.  I  bless  and  thank  you  for  lov- 
ing me.  If  my  love  can  make  you  happy,  oh  Hughie,  you 
will  be  happy." 

Hugh  shrank  from  her.  The  faltered  words  were  as  a 
two-edged  sword. 

She  looked  at  the  sensitive,  paling  face  with  tender  com- 
prehension. The  mother-look  crept  into  her  eyes. 

"  If  there  is  anything  else  that  you  wish  to  tell  me,  tell 
me  now." 

A  wild,  overwhelming  impulse  to  fling  himself  over  the 
precipice  out  of  the  reach  of  those  stabbing  words  ?  A 
horrible  nauseating  recoil  that  seemed  to  rend  his  whole 
being. 

Somebody  said  hoarsely  : 

"  There  is  nothing  else." 

It  was  his  own  voice,  but  not  his  will,  that  spoke.  Had 
any  one  ever  made  him  suffer  like  this  woman  who  loved 
him? 

Lady  Newhaven  had  returned  to  Westhope  ill  with  sus- 
pense and  anxiety.  She  had  felt  sure  she  should  success- 
fully waylay  Hugh  in  his  rooms,  convinced  that  if  they 
could  but  meet  the  clouds  between  them  (to  borrow  from 
her  vocabulary)  would  instantly  roll  away.  They  had  met, 

328 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  the  clouds  had  not  rolled  away.  She  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  attribute  Hugh's  evident  answer  at  the  sight  of 
her  to  her  want  of  prudence,  to  the  accident  of  Cap- 
tain Pratt's  presence.  She  would  not  admit  the  thought 
that  Hugh  had  ceased  to  care  for  her,  but  it  needed  a 
good  deal  of  forcible  thrusting  away.  She  could  hear 
the  knock  of  the  unwelcome  guest  upon  her  door,  and 
though  always  refused  admittance  he  withdrew  only  to 
return.  She  had  been  grievously  frightened,  too,  at  hav- 
ing been  seen  in  equivocal  circumstances  by  such  a  man 
as  Captain  Pratt.  The  very  remembrance  made  her 
shiver. 

"  How  angry  Edward  would  have  been,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  I  wonder  whether  he  would  have  advised  me 
to  write  a  little  note  to  Captain  Pratt,  explaining  how  I 
came  there,  and  asking  him  not  to  mention  it.  But,  of 
course,  he  won't  repeat  it.  He  won't  want  to  make  an 
enemy  of  me  and  Hugh.  The  Pratts  think  so  much  of 
me.  And  when  I  marry  Hugh" — (knock  at  the  mental 
door) — "  if  ever  I  marry  Hugh,  we  will  be  civil  to  him 
and  have  him  to  stay.  Edward  never  would,  but  I  don't 
think  so  much  of  good  family,  and  all  that,  as  Edward 
did.  We  will  certainly  ask  him." 

It  was  not  till  after  luncheon  that  Lady  Newhaven, 
after  scanning  the  Ladies'  Pictorial,  languidly  opened  the 
Morning  Post. 

Suddenly  the  paper  fell  from  her  hands  on  to  the  floor. 
She  seized  it  up  and  read  again  the  paragraph  which  had 
caught  her  eye. 

"No!  No!"  she  gasped.  "It  is  not  true.  It  is  not 
possible."  And  she  read  it  a  third  time. 

The  paper  fell  from  her  nerveless  hands  again,  and  this 
time  it  remained  on  the  floor. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  until  this  moment  Lady  New- 
haven  had  known  what  suffering  was.  She  had  talked 
freely  of  it  to  others.  She  had  sung,  as  if  it  were  her 
own  composition,  "  Cleansing  Fires."  She  often  said  it 
might  have  been  written  for  her. 

329 


RED    POTTAGE 

In  the  cruel  fire  of  sorrow, 

[slow,  soft  pedal. 
Cast  thy  heart,  do  not  faint  or  wail, 

[both  pedals  down,  quicker. 
Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady, 

[loud,  and  hold  on  to  last  syllable. 
Do  not  let  thy  spi-rit  quail, 

[bang  !    B  natural.     With  resolution. 
Bu-ut  .... 

[hurricane  of  false  notes,  etc. ,  etc. 

But  now,  poor  thing,  the  fire  had  reached  her,  and  her 
spirit  quailed  immediately.  Perhaps  it  was  only  natural 
that  as  her  courage  failed  something  else  should  take  its 
place;  an  implacable  burning  resentment  against  her  two 
betrayers,  her  lover  and  her  friend.  She  rocked  herself 
to'and  fro.  Lover  and  friend.  "Oh,  never,  never  trust 
in  man's  love  or  woman's  friendship  henceforth  forever !" 
So  learned  Lady  Newhaven  the  lesson  of  suffering. 

"  Lover  and  friend  hast  Thou  put  far  from  me/'  she 
sobbed,  "  and  mine  acquaintance  out  of  my  sight." 

A  ring  at  the  door-bell  proved  that  the  latter  part  of 
the  text,  at  any  rate,  was  not  true  in  her  case. 

A  footman  entered. 

"  Not  at  home.     Not  at  home,"  she  said,  impatiently. 

"  I  said  not  at  home,  but  the  gentleman  said  I  was  to 
take  up  his  card,"  said  the  man,  presenting  a  card. 

When  Captain  Pratt  tipped,  he  tipped  heavily. 

Lady  Newhaven  read  it. 

"No.  Yes.  I  will  see  him,"  she  said.  It  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  she  must  be  civil  to  him,  and  that 
her  eyes  were  not  red.  She  had  not  shed  tears. 

The  man  picked  the  newspaper  from  the  floor,  put  it  on 
a  side  table,  and  withdrew. 

Captain  Pratt  came  in,  bland,  deferential,  orchid  in 
button-hole. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  actually  in  the  room,  his  cold 
appraising  eyes  upon  her,  that  the  poor  woman  realized 
that  her  position  towards  him  had  changed.  She  could 
not  summon  up  the  nonchalant  distant  civility  which,  ac- 


RED    POTTAGE 

cording  to  her  ideas,  was  sufficient  for  her  country  neigh- 
bors in  general,  and  the  Pratts  in  particular. 

Captain  Pratt  opined  that  the  weather,  though  cold, 
was  seasonable. 

Lady  Newhaven  agreed. 

Captain  Pratt  regretted  the  hard  frost  on  account  of 
the  hunting.  Four  hunters  eating  their  heads  off,  etc. 

Lady  Newhaven  thought  the  thaw  might  come  any  day. 

Captain  Pratt  had  been  skating  yesterday  on  the  par- 
ental flooded  meadow.  Flooded  with  fire-engine.  Men 
out  of  work.  Glad  of  employment,  etc. 

How  kind  of  Captain  Pratt  to  employ  them. 

Not  at  all.  It  was  his  father.  Duties  of  the  landed 
gentry,  etc.  He  believed  if  the  frost  continued  they 
would  skate  on  Beaumere. 

No;  no  one  was  allowed  to  skate  on  Beaumere.  The 
springs  rendered  the  ice  treacherous. 

Silence. 

Captain  Pratt  turned  the  gold  knob  of  his  stick  slowly 
in  his  thick,  white  fingers.  He  looked  carefully  at  Lady 
Newhaven,  as  a  connoisseur  with  intent  to  buy  looks  at 
a  piece  of  valuable  china.  She  was  accustomed  to  being 
looked  at,  but  there  was  something  in  Captain  Pratt's 
prolonged  scrutiny  which  filled  her  with  vague  alarm. 
She  writhed  under  it.  He  observed  her  uneasiness,  but 
he  did  not  remove  his  eyes. 

Were  the  boys  well  ? 

They  were  quite  well,  thanks.     She  was  cowed. 

Were  they  fond  of  skating  ? 

Very  fond. 

Might  he  suggest  that  they  should  come  over  and  skate 
at  Warpington  Towers  to-morrow.  He  himself  would  be 
there,  and  would  take  charge  of  them. 

He  rose  slowly,  as  one  who  has  made  up  his  mind.  Lady 
Newhaven  feared  it  would  be  troubling  Captain  Pratt  too 
much. 

It  would  be  no  trouble  to  Captain  Pratt ;  on  the  con- 
trary, a  pleasure. 

331 


RED    POTTAGE 

His  hand  was  now  extended.  Lady  Newhaven  had  to 
put  hers  into  it. 

Perhaps  next  week  if  the  frost  held.  She  tried  to  with- 
draw her  hand.  Oh,  well,  then,  to-morrow ;  certainly, 
to-morrow. 

"  You  may  rely  on  me  to  take  care  of  them/'  said  Cap- 
tain Pratt,  still  holding  her  hand.  He  obliged  her  to  look 
at  him.  His  hard  eyes  met  her  frightened  blue  ones. 
"  You  may  rely  on  my  discretion  entirely — in  all  matters," 
he  said,  meaningly. 

Lady  Newhaven  winced,  and  her  hand  trembled  violent- 
ly in  his. 

He  pressed  the  shrinking  little  hand,  let  it  go,  and 
went  away. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

"Le  temps  apporte,  emporte,  mais  ne  rapporte  pas." 

"  MAY  I  come  in  ?"  said  the  Bishop,  tapping  at  Hester's 
door. 

"  Do  come  in/' 

Hester  was  lying  propped  np  by  many  cushions  on  a 
sofa  in  the  little  sitting-room  leading  out  of  her  bedroom. 
She  looked  a  mere  shadow  in  the  fire-light. 

She  smiled  at  him  mechanically,  but  her  face  relapsed 
at  once  into  the  apathetic  expression  which  sat  so  ill 
upon  it.  Her  lustreless  eyes  fixed  themselves  again  on 
the  fire. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?"  she 
said,  politely.  It  was  obvious  she  did  not  care  what  he 
did. 

"  I  am  going  to  Westhope  on  business/'  he  said,  look- 
ing narrowly  at  her.  It  was  all  very  well  for  Dr.  Brown 
to  say  she  must  be  roused  ;  but  how  were  his  instructions 
to  be  carried  out  ? 

"I  am  a  great  d6al  of  trouble  to  you,"  said  Hester. 
"  Could  not  I  be  sent  to  a  home,  or  a  place  where  you  go 
through  a  cure,  where  I  should  be  out  of  the  way  till  I'm 
well  ?" 

"  Have  I  deserved  that,  Hester  ?" 

"  No ;  but  you  know  I  always  try  to  wound  my  best 
friends." 

"  You  don't  succeed,  my  child,  because  they  know  you 
are  in  heavy  trouble/' 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  that,"  said  Hester,  quickly. 

"Yes,  the  time  has  come  to  speak  of  it.  Why  do  you 

333 


RED    POTTAGE 

shut  us  out  of  this  sorrow  ?   Don't  you  see  that  you  make 
our  burdens  heavier  by  refusing  to  let  us  share  yours  ?" 

"You  can't  share  it,"  said  Hester;  "  no  one  can," 

( '  Do  you  think  I  have  not  grieved  over  it  ?" 

"  I  know  you  have,  but  it  was  waste  of  time.  It's  no 
good — no  good.  Please  don't  cheer  me,  and  tell  me  I  shall 
write  better  books  yet,  and  that  this  trial  is  for  my  good. 
Dear  Bishop,  don't  try  and  comfort  me.  I  can't  bear  it." 

"My  poor  child,  I  firmly  believe  you  will  write  better 
books  than  the  one  which  is  lost,  and  I  firmly  believe  that 
you  will  one  day  look  back  upon  this  time  as  a  step  in 
your  spiritual  life,  but  I  had  not  intended  to  say  so.  The 
thought  was  in  my  mind,  but  it  was  you  who  put  the 
words  into  my  mouth." 

"  I  was  so  afraid  that — " 

"  That  I  was  going  to  improve  the  occasion  ?" 

"  Yes.  Dr.  Brown  and  the  nurse  are  so  dreadfully  cheer- 
ful now,  and  always  talking  about  the  future,  and  how 
celebrated  I  shall  be  some  day.  If  you  and  Rachel  follow 
suit  I  shall — I  think  I  shall — go  out  of  my  mind." 

The  Bishop  did  not  answer. 

"  Dr.  Brown  may  be  right,"  Hester  went  on.  "  I  may 
live  to  seventy,  and  I  may  become — what  does  he  call  it  ? — 
a  distinguished  author.  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care. 
But  whatever  happens  in  the  future,  nothing  will  bring 
back  the  book  which  was  burned." 

The  Bishop  did  not  speak.     He  dared  not. 

"  If  I  had  a  child,"  Hester  continued,  in  the  exhausted 
voice  with  which  he  was  becoming  familiar,  "and  it  died, 
I  might  have  ten  more,  beautiful  and  clever  and  affec- 
tionate, but  they  would  not  replace  the  one  I  had  lost. 
Only  if  it  were  a  child,"  a  little  tremor  broke  the  dead 
level  of  the  passionless  voice,  "I  should  meet  it  again  in 
heaven.  There  is  the  resurrection  of  the  body  for  the 
children  of  the  body,  but  there  is  no  resurrection  that  I 
ever  heard  of  for  the  children  of  the  brain." 

Hester  held  her  thin  right  hand  with  its  disfigured  first 
finger  to  the  fire. 

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"A  great  writer  who  had  married  and  had  children, 
whom  she  worshipped,  once  told  me  that  the  pang  of 
motherhood  is  that  even  your  children  don't  seem  your 
very  own.  They  are  often  more  like  some  one  else  than 
their  parents,  perhaps  the  spinster  sister-in-law,  whom 
every  one  dislikes,  or  some  entire  alien.  Look  at  Regie. 
He  is  just  like  me,  which  must  be  a  great  trial  to  Minna. 
And  they  grow  up  bewildering  their  parents  at  every  turn 
by  characteristics  they  don't  understand.  But  she  said 
the  spiritual  children,  the  books,  are  really  ours. 

"  If  you  were  other  than  you  are,"  said  Hester,  after  a 
long  pause,  "you  would  reprove  me  for  worshipping  my 
own  work.  I  suppose  love  is  worship.  I  loved  it  for  it- 
self, not  for  anything  it  was  to  bring  me.  That  is  what 
people  like  Dr.  Brown  don't  understand.  It  was  part  of 
myself.  But  it  was  the  better  part.  The  side  of  me  which 
loves  success,  and  which  he  is  always  appealing  to,  had  no 
hand  in  it.  My  one  prayer  was  that  I  might  be  worthy  to 
write  it,  that  it  might  not  suffer  by  contact  with  me.  I 
spent  myself  upon  it."  Hester's  voice  sank.  "I  knew 
what  I  was  doing.  I  joyfully  spent  my  health,  my  eye- 
sight, my  very  life  upon  it.  I  was  impelled  to  do  it  by 
what  you  perhaps  will  call  a  blind  instinct,  what  I,  poor 
simpleton  and  dupe,  believed  at  the  time  to  be  nothing 
less  than  the  will  of  God." 

"You  will  think  so  again,"  said  the  Bishop,  "when  you 
realize  that  the  book  has  left  its  mark  and  influence  upon 
your  character.  It  has  taught  you  a  great  deal.  The 
mere  fact  of  writing  it  has  strengthened  you.  The  out- 
ward and  visible  form  is  dead,  but  its  spirit  lives  on  in 
you.  You  will  realize  this  presently." 

"  Shall  I  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  only  thing  I  realize  is 
that  it  is  not  God  who  is  mocked,  but  His  foolish  children 
who  try  to  do  His  bidding.  It  seems  He  is  not  above  put- 
ting a  lying  spirit  in  the  mouth  of  his  prophets.  Do  you 
think  I  still  blame  poor  James  for  his  bonfire,  or  his  jealous 
little  wife  who  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  Why  should  I  ? 
They  acted  up  to  their  lights  as  your  beloved  Jock  did 

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RED    POTTAGE 

when  he  squeezed  the  life  out  of  that  rabbit  in  Westhope 
Park.  In  all  those  days  when  I  did  not  say  anything,  it 
was  because  I  felt  I  had  been  deceived.  I  had  done  my 
part.  God  had  not  done  His.  He  should  have  seen  to  it 
that  the  book  was  not  destroyed.  You  prayed  by  me  once 
when  you  thought  I  was  unconscious.  I  heard  all  right. 
I  should  have  laughed  if  I  could,  but  it  was  too  much 
trouble." 

"  These  thoughts  will  pass  away  with  your  illness/'  said 
the  Bishop.  "  You  are  like  a  man  who  has  had  a  blow, 
who  staggers  about  giddy  and  dazed,  and  sees  the  pave- 
ment rising  up  to  strike  him.  The  pavement  is  firm  under 
his  feet  all  the  time." 

"Half  of  me  knows  in  a  dim  blind  way  that  God  is  the 
same  always,"  said  Hester,  "while  the  other  half  says, 
1  Curse  God  and  die/" 

"That  is  the  giddiness,  the  vertigo  after  the  shock." 

"Is  it?  I  dare  say  you  are  right.  But  I  don't  care 
either  way." 

"  Why  trouble  your  mind  about  it,  or  about  anything  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  a  feeling,  indeed,  it  would  be  extraor- 
dinary if  I  had  not,  for  Dr.  Brown  is  always  rubbing  it 
in,  that  I  ought  to  meet  my  trouble  bravely,  and  not  sink 
down  under  it,  as  he  thinks  I  am  doing  now.  He  says 
others  have  suffered  more  than  I  have.  I  know  that,  for 
I  have  been  with  them.  It  seems,"  said  Hester,  with  the 
ghost  of  a  smile,  "  that  there  is  an  etiquette  about  these 
things,  just  as  the  blinds  are  drawn  up  after  a  funeral. 
The  moment  has  come  for  me,  but  I  have  not  drawn  up 
my  blinds." 

"  You  will  draw  them  up  presently." 

"I  would  draw  them  up  now,"  said  Hester,  looking  at 
him  steadily,  "if  I  could.  I  owe  it  to  you  and  Rachel  to 
try,  and  I  have  tried,  but  I  can't." 

The  Bishop's  cheek  paled  a  little. 

"  Take  your  own  time,"  he  said,  but  his  heart  sank. 

He  saw  a  little  boat  with  torn  sail  and  broken  rudder, 
drifting  on  to  a  lee  shore. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  seem  to  have  been  living  at  a  great  strain  for  the  last 
year,"  said  Hester.  "  I  don't  know  one  word  from  another 
now,  but  I  think  I  mean  concentration.  That  means 
holding  your  mind  to  one  place,  doesn't  it?  Well,  now, 
something  seems  to  have  broken,  and  I  can't  fix  it  to  any- 
thing any  more.  I  can  talk  to  you  and  Rachel  for  a  few 
minutes  if  I  hold  my  mind  tight,  but  I  can't  really  attend, 
and  directly  I  am  alone,  or  you  leave  off  speaking,  my  mind 
gets  loose  from  my  body  and  wanders  away  to  an  immense 
distance,  to  long,  dreary,  desert  places.  And  then  if 
you  come  in  I  make  a  great  effort  to  bring  it  back,  and 
to  open  my  eyes,  because  if  I  don't  you  think  I'm  ill. 
You  don't  mind  if  I  shut  them  now,  do  you? — because 
I've  explained  about  them,  and  holding  them  open 
does  tire  me  so.  I  wish  they  could  be  propped  open. 
And — my  mind  gets  further  and  further  away  every 
day.  I  hope  you  and  Rachel  won't  think  I  am  giving 
way  if  —  sometime  —  I  really  can't  bring  it  back  any 
longer. " 

"Dear  Hester,  no/' 

"  I  will  not  talk  any  more  then.  If  you  and  Rachel  un- 
derstand, that  is  all  that  matters.  I  used  to  think  so 
many  things  mattered,  but  I  don't  now.  And  don't  think 
I'm  grieving  about  the  book  while  I'm  lying  still.  I  have 
grieved,  but  it  is  over.  I'm  too  tired  to  be  glad  or  sorry 
about  anything  any  more." 

Hester  lay  back  spent  and  gray  among  her  pillows. 

The  Bishop  roused  her  to  take  the  stimulant  put  ready 
near  at  hand,  and  then  sat  a  long  time  watching  her.  She 
seemed  unconscious  of  his  presence.  At  last  the  nurse 
came  in,  and  he  went  out  silently,  and  returned  to  his 
study.  Rachel  was  waiting  there  to  hear  the  result  of  the 
interview. 

"  I  can  do  nothing,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  power  to  help 
her.  After  forty  years  ministry  I  have  not  a  word  to  say 
to  her.  She  is  beyond  human  aid — at  least,  she  is  beyond 
mine." 

"  You  tliiiik  she  will  die?" 
Y  337 


RED    POTTAGE 

ee  I  do  not  see  what  is  going  to  happen  to  prevent  it,  but 
I  am  certain  it  might  be  prevented." 

"  You  could  not  rouse  her?" 

"  No,  she  discounted  anything  I  could  have  said,  by 
asking  me  not  to  say  it.  That  is  the  worst  of  Hester.  The 
partition  between  her  mind  and  that  of  other  people  is  so 
thin  that  she  sees  what  they  are  thinking  about.  Thank 
God,  Rachel,  that  you  are  not  cursed  with  the  artistic  tem- 
perament !  That  is  why  she  has  never  married.  She  sees 
too  much.  I  am  not  a  match-maker,  but  if  I  had  had  to 
take  the  responsibility,  I  should  have  married  her  at  sev- 
enteen to  Lord  Newhaven." 

"You  know  he  asked  her?" 

"No,  I  did  not  know  it." 

(f  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  when  first  she  came  out.  Lady 
Susan  was  anxious  for  it,  and  pressed  her.  I  sometimes 
think  if  she  had  been  given  time,  and  if  her  aunt  had  let 
her  alone — but  he  married  within  the  year.  But  what  are 
we  to  do  about  Hester?  Dr.  Brown  says  something  must 
be  done,  or  she  will  sink  in  a  decline.  I  would  give  my 
life  for  her,  but  I  can  do  nothing.  I  have  tried." 

"So  have  I," said  the  Bishop.  "But  it  has  come  to 
this.  We  have  got  to  trust  the  one  person  whom  we  al- 
ways show  we  tacitly  distrust  by  trying  to  take  matters  out 
of  His  hands.  We  must  trust  God.  So  far  we  have 
strained  ourselves  to  keep  Hester  alive,  but  she  is  past  our 
help  now.  She  is  in  none  the  worse  case  for  that.  We  are 
her  two  best  friends  save  one.  We  must  leave  her  to  the 
best  Friend  of  all.  God  has  her  in  His  hand.  For  the 
moment  the  greater  love  holds  her  away  from  the  less,  like 
the  mother  who  takes  her  sick  child  into  her  arms,  apart 
from  the  other  children  who  are  playing  round  her.  Hes- 
ter is  in  God's  keeping,  and  that  is  enough  for  us.  And 
now  take  a  turn  in  the  garden,  Rachel.  You  are  too  much 
in-doors.  I  am  going  out  on  business." 

When  Rachel  had  left  him  the  Bishop  opened  his  des- 
patch-box and  took  out  a  letter. 

It  was  directed  to  Lady  Newhaven. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  promised  to  give  it  into  her  own  hand  a  month  after 
his  death,  whenever  that  might  happen  to  be,"  lie  said  to 
himself.  "  There  was  some  trouble  between  them.  I  hope 
she  won't  confide  it  to  me.  Anyhow,  I  must  go  and  get  it 
over.  I  wish  I  did  not  dislike  her  so  much.  I  shall  advise 
her  not  to  read  it  till  I  am  gone." 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

The  mouse  fell  from  the  ceiling,  and  the  cat  cried,  "Allah!" 

— Syrian  Proverb. 

THAT  help  should  come  through  such  a  recognized 
channel  as  a  Bishop  could  surprise  no  one,  least  of  all 
Lady  Newhaven,  who  had  had  the  greatest  faith  in  the 
clergy  all  her  life,  but,  nevertheless,  so  overwhelmed  was 
she  by  despair  and  its  physical  sensations,  that  she  very 
nearly  refused  to  see  the  Bishop  when  he  called.  Her 
faith  even  in  lawn  sleeves  momentarily  tottered.  Who 
would  show  her  any  good  ?  Poor  Lady  Newhaven  was 
crushed  into  a  state  of  prostration  so  frightful  that  we 
must  not  blame  her  if  she  felt  that  even  an  Archbishop 
would  have  been  powerless  to  help  her. 

She  had  thought,  after  the  engagement  was  announced, 
of  rushing  up  to  London  and  insisting  on  seeing  Hugh ; 
but  always,  after  she  had  looked  out  the  trains,  her  cour- 
age had  shrunk  back  at  the  last  moment.  There  had  been 
a  look  on  Hugh's  face  during  that  last  momentary  meet- 
ing which  she  could  not  nerve  herself  to  see  again.  She 
had  been  to  London  already  once  to  see  him,  without 
success. 

She  knew  Eachel  was  at  the  Palace  at  Southminster 
nursing  Hester,  and  twice  she  had  ordered  the  carriage 
to  drive  over  to  see  her,  and  make  a  desperate  appeal  to 
her  to  give  up  Hugh.  But  she  knew  that  she  should  fail. 
And  Kachel  would  triumph  over  her.  "Women  always  did 
over  a  defeated  rival.  Lady  Newhaven  had  not  gone. 

The  frightful  injustice  of  it  all  wrung  Lady  Newhaven's 
heart  to  the  point  of  agony.  To  see  her  own  property 
deliberately  stolen  from  her  in  the  light  of  day,  as  it  were, 

340 


RED    POTTAGE 

in  the  very  market-place,  before  everybody,  without  being 
able  to  raise  a  finger  to  regain  him  !  It  was  intolerable. 
For  she  loved  Hugh  as  far  as  she  was  capable  of  loving 
anything.  And  her  mind  had  grown  round  the  idea  that 
he  was  hers  as  entirely  as  a  tree  will  grow  round  a  nail 
fastened  into  it. 

And  now  he  was  to  marry  Rachel,  and  soon. 

Let  no  oue  think  they  know  pain  until  they  know  jeal- 
ousy. 

But  when  the  Bishop  sent  up  a  second  time,  asking  to 
see  her  on  business,  she  consented. 

It  was  too  soon  to  see  callers,  of  course.  But  a  Bishop 
was  different.  And  how  could  she  refuse  to  admit  him 
when  she  had  admitted  that  odious  Captain  Pratt  only 
four  days  before.  She  hoped  no  one  would  become  aware 
of  that  fact.  It  was  as  well  for  her  that  she  could  not 
hear  the  remarks  of  Selina  and  Ada  Pratt,  as  they  skated 
on  the  frozen  meadows  with  half,  not  the  better -half,  of 
Middleshire. 

"Poor  Vi  Newhaven.  Yes,  she  won't  see  a  creature. 
She  saw  Algy  for  a  few  minutes  last  week,  but  then  he  is 
an  old  friend,  and  does  not  count.  He  said  she  was  quite 
heart-broken.  He  was  quite  upset  himself.  He  was  so 
fond  of  Ted  Newhaven." 

The  Bishop  would  not  even  sit  down.  He  said  he  was 
on  the  way  to  a  confirmation,  and  added  that  he  had 
been  entrusted  with  a  letter  for  her,  and  held  it  towards 
her. 

"It  is  my  husband's  handwriting,"  she  said,  drawing 
back,  with  instinctive  fear. 

"It  is  from  your  husband,"  said  the  Bishop,  gently, 
softening  somewhat  at  the  sight  of  the  ravages  which  de- 
spair had  made  in  the  lovely  face  since  he  had  last  seen  it. 
"  He  asked  me  to  give  it  into  your  own  hand  a  month  after 
his  death." 

"  Then  he  told  yon  that—" 

"He  told  me  nothing,  and  I  wish  to  hear  nothing." 

"  I  should  like  to  confess  all  to  you,  to  feel  myself  ab- 

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RED    POTTAGE 

solved,"  said  Lady  Newhaven  in  a  low  voice,  the  letter  in 
her  trembling  hand. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  he  saw  that  she  would  not  say  all. 
She  would  arrange  details  to  suit  herself,  and  would  omit 
the  main  point  altogether,  whatever  it  might  be,  if,  as  it 
was  more  than  probable,  it  told  against  herself.  He  would 
at  least  save  her  from  the  hypocrisy  of  a  half-confession. 

"  If  in  a  month's  time  you  wish  to  make  a  full  confession 
to  me,"  he  said,  "  I  will  hear  it.  But  I  solemnly  charge 
you  in  the  meanwhile  to  speak  to  no  one  of  this  difficulty 
between  you  and  your  husband.  Whatever  it  may  have 
been,  it  is  past.  If  he  sinned  against  you,  he  is  dead,  and 
the  least  you  can  do  is  to  keep  silence.  If  you  wronged 
him" — Lady  Newhaven  shook  her  head  vehemently — "  if 
you  wronged  him/'  repeated  the  Bishop,  his  face  harden- 
ing, "  be  silent  for  the  sake  of  the  children.  It  is  the  only 
miserable  reparation  you  can  make  him." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said,  feebly. 

"  I  know  that  he  was  a  kindly,  gentle-natured  man,  and 
that  he  died  a  hard  and  bitter  one,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  God 
knows  what  is  in  that  letter,  but  your  husband  said  it  would 
be  of  the  greatest  comfort  and  assistance  to  you  in  a  diffi- 
culty which  he  foresaw  for  you.  I  will  leave  you  to  read 
it." 

And  he  left  the  room. 

The  early  December  twilight  was  creeping  over  every- 
thing. Lady  Newhaven  took  the  letter  to  the  window, 
and  after  several  futile  attempts  succeeded  in  opening  it. 

It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  It  is  irreligious  to  mourn  too  long  for  the  dead.  '  I  shall  go  to 
him,  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me ' — II.  Sani.  xii.  23.  In  the  mean- 
while, until  you  rejoin  me,  I  trust  you  will  remember  that  it  is  my 
especial  wish  that  you  should  allow  one  who  is  in  every  way  worthy 
of  you  to  console  you  for  my  loss,  who  will  make  you  as  happy 
as  you  both  deserve  to  be.  That  I  died  by  my  own  hand  you  and 
your  so-called  friend  Miss  West  are  of  course  aware.  That  '  the 
one  love  of  your  life '  drew  the  short  lighter  you  are  perhaps  not 
aware.  I  waited  two  days  to  see  if  he  would  fulfil  the  compact,  and 
as  he  did  not — I  never  thought  he  would — I  retired  in  his  place.  I 

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RED    POTTAGE 

present  to  you  this  small  piece  of  information  as  a  wedding-present, 
which,  if  adroitly  handled,  may  add  to  the  harmony  of  domestic  life. 
And  if  by  any  chance  he  should  have  conceived  the  dastardly,  the 
immoral  idea  of  deserting  you  in  favor  of  some  mercenary  marriage 
— of  which  I  rather  suspect  him — you  will  find  this  piece  of  informa- 
tion invaluable  in  restoring  his  allegiance  at  once.  He  is  yours  by 
every  sacred  tie,  and  no  treacherous  female  friend  must  wrest  him 
from  you.  Your  late  husband, 

"NEWHAVEN." 


Lady  Newhaven  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket,  and  then 
fainted  away,  with  her  fair  head  on  the  window-ledge. 


CHAPTER  L 

" There  cannot  be  a  pinch  in  death  more  sharp  than  this  is." 

THE  Bishop's  sister,  Miss  Keane,  whose  life  was  a  per- 
petual orgy  of  mothers'  meetings  and  G.F.S.  gatherings, 
was  holding  a  district  visitors'  working  party  in  the  draw- 
ing-room at  the  Palace.  The  ladies  knitted  and  stitched, 
while  one  of  their  number  heaped  fuel  on  the  flame  of 
their  enthusiasm  by  reading  aloud  the  "  History  of  the 
Diocese  of  South  minster." 

Miss  Keene  took  but  little  heed  of  the  presence  of  Ra- 
chel and  Hester  in  her  brother's  house.  Those  who  work 
mechanically  on  fixed  lines  seem,  as  a  rule,  to  miss  the  pith 
of  life.  She  was  kind  when  she  remembered  them,  but 
her  heart  was  where  her  treasure  was — namely,  in  her  es- 
critoire, with  her  list  of  Bible-classes,  and  servants'  choral 
unions,  and  the  long  roll  of  contributors  to  the  guild  of 
work  which  she  herself  had  started. 

When  she  had  been  up  to  Hester's  room,  invariably  at 
hours  when  Hester  could  not  see  her,  and  when  she  had 
entered  Rachel's  sledge-hammer  subscriptions  in  her  vari- 
ous account-books,  her  attention  left  her  visitors.  She 
considered  them  superficial,  and  wondered  how  it  was 
that  her  brother  could  find  time  to  spend  hours  talking  to 
both  of  them,  while  he  had  rarely  a  moment  in  which  to 
address  her  chosen  band  in  the  drawing-room.  She  was 
one  of  those  persons  who  find  life  a  very  prosaic  affair, 
quite  unlike  the  fiction  she  occasionally  read. 

She  often  remarked  that  nothing  except  the  common- 
place happened.  Certainly  she  never  observed  anything 
else. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

So  Hester  lay  in  the  room  above,  halting  feebly  between 
two  opinions,  whether  to  live  or  to  die,  Rachel  sat  in  the 
Bishop's  study  beneath,  waiting  to  make  tea  for  him  on 
his  return  from  the  confirmation. 

If  she  did  not  make  it,  no  one  else  did.  Instead  of  ring- 
ing for  it  he  went  without  it. 

Rachel  watched  the  sun  set — a  red  ball  dropping  down 
a  frosty  sky.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  year.  The  new 
year  was  bringing  her  everything. 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  last  rim 
of  the  sun  as  he  sank.  And  she  remembered  other  years 
when  she  had  watched  the  sun  set  on  the  last  day  of  De- 
cember, when  life  had  been  difficult — how  difficult ! 

"If  Hester  could  only  get  better  I  should  have  nothing 
left  to  wish  for,"  she  said,  and  she  prayed  the  more  fer- 
vently for  her  friend,  because  she  knew  that  even  if  Hester 
died,  life  would  still  remain  beautiful;  the  future  without 
her  would  still  be  flooded  with  happiness. 

"  A  year  ago  if  Hester  had  died  I  should  have  had  noth- 
ing left  to  live  for,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Now  this  new- 
comer, this  man  whom  I  have  known  barely  six  months, 
fills  my  whole  life.  Are  other  women  as  narrow  as  I  am  ? 
Can  they  care  only  for  one  person  at  a  time  like  me?  Ah, 
Hester  !  forgive  me,  I  can't  help  it." 

Hugh  was  coming  in  presently.  He  had  been  in  that 
morning,  and  the  Bishop  had  met  him,  and  had  asked  him 
to  come  in  again  to  tea.  Rachel  did  not  know  what  the 
Bishop  thought  of  him,  but  he  had  managed  to  see  a  good 
deal  of  Hugh. 

Rachel  waited  as  impatiently  as  most  of  us,  when  our 
happiness  lingers  by  us,  loth  to  depart. 

At  last  she  heard  the  footman  bringing  some  one  across 
the  hall. 

Would  Hugh's  coming  ever  become  a  common  thing? 
Would  she  ever  be  able  to  greet  him  without  this  tumult 
of  emotion,  ever  be  able  to  take  his  hand  without  turning 
giddy  on  the  sheer  verge  of  bliss. 

The  servant  announced,  "  Lady  Newhaven." 

345 


RED    POTTAGE 

The  two  women  stood  looking  at  each  other.  Rachel 
saw  the  marks  of  suffering  on  the  white  face,  and  her 
own  became  as  white.  Her  eyes  fell  guiltily  before  Lady 
Newhaven's. 

"Forgive  me/'  she  said. 

"  Forgive  you?"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 
"  It  is  no  use  asking  me  for  forgiveness." 

"You  are  right/'  said  Rachel,  recovering  herself,  and 
meeting  Lady  Newhaven's  eyes  fully.  "  But  what  is  the 
use  of  coming  here  to  abuse  me  ?  You  might  have  spared 
yourself  and  me  this  at  least.  It  will  only  exhaust  you 
and — wound  me." 

"  You  must  give  him  up,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  her 
hands  fumbling  under  her  crape  cloak.  "  I've  come  to 
tell  you  that  you  must  let  him  go." 

The  fact  that  Hugh  had  drawn  the  short  lighter,  and 
had  not  taken  the  consequences,  did  not  affect  Lady 
Newhaven's  feelings  towards  him  in  the  least,  but  she  was 
vaguely  aware  that  somehow  it  would  affect  Rachel's,  and 
now  it  would  be  Rachel's  turn  to  suffer. 

Rachel  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  slowly  : 

"He  does  not  wish  to  be  let  go." 

"He  is  mine." 

"  He  was  yours  once/'  said  Rachel,  her  face  turning 
from  white  to  gray.  That  wound  was  long  in  healing. 
"But  he  is  mine  now." 

"  Rachel,  you  cannot  be  bad  all  through."  Lady  New- 
haven  was  putting  the  constraint  upon  herself  which  that 
tightly  clutched  paper,  that  poisoned  weapon  in  reserve, 
enabled  her  to  assume.  For  Hugh's  sake  she  would  only 
use  it  if  other  means  failed.  "  You  must  know  that  you 
ought  to  look  upon  him  as  a  married  man.  Don't  you 
see" — wildly — "that  we  must  marry,  to  put  right  what 
was  wrong  ?  He  owes  it  to  me.  People  always  do." 

"Yes,  they  generally  do,"  said  Rachel;  "but  I  don't 
see  how  it  makes  the  wrong  right." 

"  I  look  upon  Hugh  as  my  husband/'  said  Lady  New- 
haven. 

346 


RED    POTTAGE 

"So  do  I." 

"  Rachel,  he  loves  me.  He  is  only  marrying  you  for 
your  money." 

"I  will  risk  that." 

"  I  implore  you  on  my  knees  to  give  him  back  to  me." 

And  Lady  Newhaven  knelt  down  with  bare,  white  out- 
stretched hands.  (Tableau  number  one.  New  Series.) 

Rachel  shrank  back  involuntarily. 

"  Listen,  Violet,"  she  said,  "  and  get  up.  I  will  not 
speak  until  you  get  up."  Lady  Newhaven  obeyed.  "If 
I  gave  back  Hugh  to  you  a  hundred  times  it  would  not 
make  him  love  you  any  more,  or  make  him  marry  you.  I 
am  not  keeping  him  from  you.  This  marriage  is  his  own 
doing.  Oh !  Violet,  I'm  not  young  and  pretty.  I've  no 
illusions  about  myself ;  but  I  believe  he  really  does  love 
me,  in  spite  of  that,  and  I  know  I  love  him." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Lady  Newhaven.  "I  mean 
about  him.  Not  about  you,  of  course." 

"  Here  he  is.     Let  him  decide,"  said  Rachel. 

Hugh  came  in  unannounced.  Upon  his  grave  face 
there  was  that  concentrated  look  of  happiness  which  has 
settled  in  the  very  deep  of  the  heart  and  gleams  up  into 
the  eyes. 

His  face  changed  painfully.  He  glanced  from  one 
woman  to  the  other.  Rachel  was  sorry  for  him.  She 
would  fain  have  spared  him,  but  she  could  not. 

"Hugh, "she  said,  gently,  her  steadfast  eyes  resting  on 
him,  "  Lady  Newhaven  and  I  were  talking  of  you.  I 
think  it  would  be  best  if  she  heard  from  your  own  lips 
what  she,  naturally,  will  not  believe  from  mine." 

"I  will  never  believe,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  "that 
you  will  desert  me  now,  that  all  the  past  is  nothing  to 
you,  and  that  you  will  cast  me  aside  for  another  woman." 

Hugh  looked  at  her  steadily.  Then  he  went  up  to 
Rachel,  and  taking  her  hand,  raised  it  to  his  lips.  There 
was  in  his  manner  a  boundless  reverent  adoration  that 
was  to  Lady  Newhaven's  jealousy  as  a  match  to  gun- 
powder. 

347 


RED    POTTAGE 

Rachel  kept  his  hand. 

"  Are  yon  sure  you  want  him,  Rachel  ?"  gasped  Lady 
Newhaven,  holding  convulsively  to  a  chair  for  support. 
"  He  has  cast  me  aside.  He  will  cast  you  aside  next,  for 
he  is  a  coward  and  a  traitor.  Are  you  sure  you  want  to 
marry  him  ?  His  hands  are  red  with  blood.  He  mur- 
dered my  husband." 

Rachel's  hand  tightened  on  Hugh's. 

"  It  was  an  even  chance/'  she  said.  "  Those  who  draw 
lots  must  abide  by  the  drawing." 

"  It  was  an  even  chance,"  shrieked  Lady  Newhaven. 
"  But  who  drew  the  short  lighter,  tell  me  that  ?  Who  re- 
fused to  fulfil  his  part  when  the  time  was  up  ?  Tell  me 
that." 

"  Yon  are  mad,"  said  Rachel. 

"  I  can  prove  it,"  said  Lady  Newhaven,  holding  out  the 
letter  in  her  shaking  hands.  "  You  may  read  it,  Rachel.  I 
can  trust  you.  Not  him,  he  would  burn  it.  It  is  from 
Edward;  look,  you  know  his  writing,  written  to  tell  me 
that  he,"  pointing  at  Hugh,  "  had  drawn  the  short  lighter, 
but  that,  as  he  had  not  killed  himself  when  the  time  came, 
he,  Edward,  did  so  instead.  That  was  why  he  was  late. 
We  always  wondered,  Rachel,  why  he  was  two  days  late. 
Read  it  !  Read  it  !" 

"  I  will  not  read  it,"  said  Rachel,  pushing  away  the 
paper.  "  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  You  shall  believe  it.     Ask  him  to  deny  it,  if  he  can." 

"  Yon  need  not  trouble  to  deny  it,"  said  Rachel,  look- 
ing full  at  Hugh. 

The  world  held  only  her  and  him.  And  as  Hugh  looked 
into  her  eyes  his  soul  rose  up  and  scaled  the  heights  above 
it  till  it  stood  beside  hers. 

There  is  a  sacred  place  where,  if  we  follow  close  in  Love's 
footsteps,  we  see  him  lay  aside  his  earthly  quiver  and  his 
bitter  arrows,  and  turn  to  us  as  he  is,  with  the  light  of 
God  upon  him,  one  with  us  as  one  with  God.  In  that 
pure  light  lies  cease  to  be.  We  know  them  no  more, 
neither  remember  them,  for  love  and  truth  are  one. 

348 


RED    POTTAGE 

Hugh  strode  across  to  Lady  Xewhaven,  took  the  letter 
from  her,  and  threw  it  into  the  heart  of  the  fire.  Then 
he  turned  to  Rachel. 

"  I  drew  the  short  lighter,"  he  said.  "  I  meant  to  take 
the  consequences  at  first,  but  when  the  time  came — I  did 
not.  Partly  I  was  afraid,  and  partly  I  could  not  leave 
you." 

If  Lady  Newhaven  yearned  for  revenge  she  had  it  then. 
They  had  both  forgotten  her.  But  she  saw  Rachel's  eyes 
change  as  the  eyes  of  a  man  at  the  stake  might  change 
when  the  fire  reached  him.  She  shrank  back  from  the 
agony  in  them.  Hugh's  face  became  pinched  and  thin  as 
a  dead  man's.  A  moment  ago  he  saw  no  consequences. 
He  saw  only  that  he  could  not  lie  to  her.  His  mind  fell 
headlong  from  its  momentary  foothold.  What  mad  im- 
pulse had  betrayed  him  to  his  ruin  ? 

"  You  drew  the  short  lighter,  and  you  let  me  think  all 
the  time  he  had/'  said  Rachel,  her  voice  almost  inaudible 
in  its  fierce  passion.  "  You  drew  it,  and  you  let  him  die 
instead  of  you,  as  any  one  who  knew  him  would  know  he 
would.  And  when  he  was  dead  you  came  to  me,  and  kept 
me  in  ignorance  even — that  time — when  I  said  I  trusted 
you." 

The  remembrance  of  that  meeting  was  too  much. 

Rachel  turned  her  eyes  on  Lady  Newhaven,  who  was 
watching  her  terror-stricken. 

"I  said  I  would  not  give  him  up,  but  I  will,"  she  said, 
violently,  "  You  can  take  him  if  you  want  him.'  What 
was  it  you  said  to  me,  Hugh  ?  That  if  you  had  drawn  the 
short  lighter  you  would  have  had  to  abide  by  it.  Yes, 
that  was  it.  Your  whole  intercourse  with  me  has  been 
one  lie  from  first  to  last.  You  were  right,  Violet,  when 
you  said  he  ought  to  marry  you.  It  will  be  another  lie  on 
the  top  of  all  the  others." 

"It  was  what  Edward  wished,"  faltered  his  widow. 
"  He  says  so  in  the  letter  that  has  just  been  burned." 

"  Lord  Newhaven  wished  it,"  said  Rachel,  looking  at 
the  miserable  man  between  them.  "  Poor  Lord  New- 

349 


RED    POTTAGE 

haven  !  First  his  honor.  Then  his  life.  Yon  have  taken 
everything  he  had.  But  there  are  still  his  shoes." 

"  Rachel !"  said  Hugh,  suddenly,  and  he  fell  on  his 
knees  before  her,  clasping  the  hem  of  her  gown. 

She  pushed  him  violently  from  her,  tearing  her  gown 
in  releasing  it  from  his  frenzied  grasp. 

"  Leave  me,"  she  whispered.  Her  voice  was  almost 
gone.  "  Coward  and  liar,  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  you." 

He  got  upon  his  feet  somehow.  The  two  gray  desperate 
faces  spent  with  passion  faced  each  other.  They  were  past 
speech. 

He  read  his  death-warrant  in  her  merciless  eyes.  She 
looked  at  the  despair  in  his  without  flinching. 

He  stood  a  moment,  and  then  feeling  his  way,  like  one 
half  blind,  left  the  room,  unconsciously  pushing  aside 
Lady  Newhaven,  whom  both  had  forgotten. 

She  gave  one  terrified  glance  at  Rachel,  and  slipped  out 
after  him. 


CHAPTER    LI 

I  thought,  "Now,  if  I  had  been  a  woman,  such 
As  God  made  women,  to  save  men  by  love — 
By  just  my  love  I  might  have  saved  this  man." 

—ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

"  HAS  Lad}'-  Newhaven  been  here  ?"  said  the  Bishop, 
coming  into  the  study,  his  hands  full  of  papers.  "  I 
thought  I  saw  her  carriage  driving  away  as  I  came  up." 

"  She  has  been  here." 

The  Bishop  looked  up  suddenly,  his  attention  arrested 
by  Rachel's  voice.  There  is  a  white  heat  of  anger  that 
mimics  the  pallor  of  a  fainting  fit.  The  Bishop  thought 
she  was  about  to  swoon,  until  he  saw  her  eyes.  Those 
gentle  faithful  eyes  were  burning.  He  shrank  as  one  who 
sees  the  glare  of  fire  raging  inside  familiar  windows. 

"  My  poor  child,"  he  said,  and  he  sat  down  heavily  in 
his  leather  arm-chair. 

Rachel  still  stood.  She  looked  at  him,  and  her  lips 
moved,  but  no  sound  came  forth. 

The  Bishop  looked  intently  at  her. 

"Where  is  Scarlett  ?" 

"  Hugh  is  gone,"  she  said,  stammering.  "  I  have  broken 
off  my  engagement  with  him.  He  will  never  come  back." 

And  she  fell  suddenly  on  her  knees,  and  hid  her  con- 
vulsed face  against  the  arm  of  a  chair. 

The  Bishop  did  not  move.  He  waited  for  this  parox- 
ysm of  anger  to  subside.  He  had  never  seen  Rachel  angry 
before  in  all  the  years  he  had  known  her,  but  he  watched 
her  without  surprise.  Only  stupid  people  think  that  coal 
cannot  burn  as  fiercely  us  tow. 

351 


RED    POTTAGE 

She  remained  a  long  time  on  her  knees,  her  face  hidden. 
The  Bishop  did  not  hurry  her.  At  last  she  began  to  sob 
silently,  shuddering  from  head  to  foot. 

Then  he  came  and  sat  down  near  her,  and  took  the  cold 
clinched  hands  in  his. 

"  Rachel,  tell  me,"  he  said,  gently. 

She  tried  to  pull  her  hands  away,  but  he  held  them  firm- 
ly. He  obliged  her  to  look  up  at  him.  She  raised  her 
fierce,  disfigured  face  for  a  moment,  and  then  let  it  fall  on 
his  hands  and  hers. 

"I  am  a  wicked  woman,"  she  said.  "Don't  trouble 
about  me.  Fm  not  worth  it.  I  thought  I  would  have 
kept  all  suffering  from  him,  but  now — if  I  could  make  him 
suffer — I  would." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  is  suffering." 

"  Not  enough.  Not  like  me.  And  I  loved  him  and 
trusted  him.  And  he  is  false,  too,  like  that  other  man  I 
loved;  like  you,  only  I  have  not  found  you  out  yet;  like 
Hester ;  like  all  the  rest.  I  will  never  trust  any  one  again. 
I  will  never  be  deceived  again.  This  is — the — second 
time." 

And  Rachel  broke  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

The  Bishop  released  her  hands  and  felt  for  his  own 
handkerchief. 

Then  he  waited,  praying  silently.  The  clock  had  made 
a  long  circuit  before  she  raised  herself. 

"  I  am  very  selfish,"  she  said,  looking  with  compunc- 
tion at  the  kind,  tried  face.  "  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  my 
room  instead  of  breaking  down  here.  Dear  Bishop,  forgive 
me.  It  is  past  now.  I  shall  not  give  way  again." 

"  Will  you  make  me  some  tea?"  he  said. 

She  made  the  tea  with  shaking  hands  and  awkward, 
half-blind  movements.  It  was  close  on  dinner-time,  but 
she  did  not  notice  it.  He  obliged  her  to  drink  some,  and 
then  he  settled  himself  in  his  leather  arm-chair.  He  went 
over  his  engagements  for  the  evening.  In  half  an  hour  he 
ought  to  be  dining  with  Canon  Glynn  to  meet  an  old  col- 
lege friend.  At  eleven  he  had  arranged  to  see  a  young 

352 


ILK  I)    POTTAGE 

clergyman  whose  conscience  was  harrying  him.  He  wrote 
a  note  on  his  knee  without  moving,  saying  he  could  not 
come,  and  touched  the  bell  at  his  elbow.  When  the  ser- 
vant had  taken  the  note  he  relapsed  into  the  depths  of  his 
arm-chair  and  sipped  his  tea. 

"I  think,  Rachel,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  I  partly  guess  at  your  reason  for  breaking  off  your 
engagement.  I  have  known  for  some  time  that  there  was 
trouble  between  the  Newhavens.  From  what  Lady  New- 
haven  said  to  me  to-day,  and  from  the  fact  that  she  has 
been  here,  and  that  immediately  after  seeing  her  you  broke 
your  engagement  with  Scarlett,  I  must  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Scarlett  had  been  the  cause  of  this  trouble." 

Rachel  had  regained  her  composure.  Her  face  was 
white  and  hard. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said.  "  He  was  at  one  time — her 
lover." 

"And  you  consider,  in  consequence,  that  he  is  unfit  to 
become  your  husband?" 

"  No.  He  told  me  about  it  before  he  asked  me  to  marry 
him.  I  accepted  him,  knowing  it." 

"Then  he  was  trying  to  retrieve  himself.  He  acted 
towards  you,  at  any  rate,  like  an  honorable  man." 

Rachel  laughed.     "  So  I  thought  at  the  time." 

"  If  you  accepted  him,  knowing  about  his  past,  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  have  thrown  him  over.  One  dishon- 
orable action  sincerely  repented  does  not  make  a  dishon- 
orable man." 

"  I  did  not  know  all,"  said  Rachel.     "  I  do  now." 

The  Bishop  looked  into  the  fire. 

Her  next  words  surprised  him. 

"You  really  cared  for  Lord  Newhaven,  did  you  not?" 

"I  did." 

"Then  as  you  know  the  one  thing  he  risked  his  life  to 
conceal  for  the  sake  of  his  children — namely,  his  wife's 
misconduct — I  think  I  had  better  tell  you  the  rest." 

So  Rachel  told  him  in  harsh,  bald  language  the  story 
of  the  drawing  of  lots,  and  how  she  and  Lady  Newhaven 
z  353 


RED    POTTAGE 

had  remained  ignorant  as  to  which  had  drawn  the  short 
lighter.  How  Hugh  had  drawn  it ;  how  when  the  time 
came  he  had  failed  to  fulfil  the  agreement ;  how  two  days 
later  Lord  Newhaven  had  killed  himself;  and  how  she 
and  Lady  Newhaven  had  both,  of  course,  concluded  that 
Lord  Newhaven  must  have  drawn  the  short  lighter. 

Rachel  went  on,  her  hard  voice  shaking  a  little. 

"  Hugh  had  told  me  that  he  had  had  an  entanglement 
with  a  married  woman.  I  knew  it  long  before  he  spoke 
of  it,  but  just  because  he  risked  losing  me  by  owning  it  I 
loved  and  trusted  him  all  the  more.  I  thought  he  was,  at 
any  rate,  an  upright  man.  After  Lord  Newhaven's  death 
he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I  accepted  him.  And 
when  we  were  talking  quietly  one  day" — Rachel's  face 
became,  if  possible,  whiter  than  before — "I  told  him  that 
I  knew  of  the  drawing  of  lots.  (He  thought  no  one  knew 
of  it  except  the  dead  man  and  himself.)  And  told  him 
that  he  must  not  blame  himself  for  Lord  Newhaven's 
death.  He  had  brought  it  on  himself.  I  said  to  him"-- 
Rachel's  voice  trembled  more  and  more — ' ' '  It  was  an 
even  chance.  You  might  have  drawn  the  short  lighter 
yourself/  And — he — said  that  if  he  had,  he  should  have 
had  to  abide  by  it." 

The  Bishop  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  It  seemed 
cruel  to  look  at  Rachel,  as  it  is  cruel  to  watch  a  man  drown. 

"  And  how  do  you  know  he  did  draw  it  ?"  he  said. 

"  It  seems  Lord  Newhaven  left  his  wife  a  letter,  which 
she  has  only  just  received,  telling  her  so.  She  brought 
it  here  to-day  to  show  me." 

"  Ah  !    A  letter  !     And  you  read  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  Rachel,  scornfully,  "I  did  not  read  it.  I 
did  not  believe  a  word  she  said  about  it.  Hugh  was 
there,  and  I  told  him  I  trusted  him;  and  he  took  the 
letter  from  her,  and  put  it  in  the  fire." 

"And  did  he  not  contradict  it  ?" 

"No.  He  said  it  was  true.  He  has  lied  to  me  over 
and  over  again ;  but  I  saw  he  was  speaking  the  truth  for 
once." 

354 


RED    POTTAGE 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  I  don't  know  how  other  people  regard  those  things/' 
said  Rachel  at  last,  less  harshly — she  was  gradually  re- 
covering herself — ' '  but  I  know  to  me  it  was  much  worse 
that  he  could  deceive  me  than  that  he  should  have  been 
Lady  Newhaven's  lover.  I  did  feel  that  dreadfully.  I 
had  to  choke  down  my  jealousy  when  he  kissed  me.  He 
had  kissed  her  first.  He  had  made  that  side  of  his  love 
common  and  profane ;  but  the  other  side  remained.  I 
clung  to  that.  I  believed  he  really  loved  me,  and  that 
supported  me  and  enabled  me  to  forgive  him,  though 
men  don't  know  what  that  forgiveness  costs  us.  Only 
the  walls  of  our  rooms  know  that.  But  it  seems  to  me 
much  worse  to  have  failed  me  on  that  other  side  as  well — 
to  have  deceived  me — to  have  told  me  a  lie — just  when — 
just  when  we  were  talking  intimately." 

"  It  was  infinitely  worse,"  said  the  Bishop. 
."  And  it  was  the  action  of  a  coward  to  draw  lots  in  the 
first  instance  if  he  did  not  mean  to  abide  by  the  drawing, 
and  the  action  of  a  traitor,  once  they  were  drawn,  not  to 
abide  by  them.  But  yet,  if  he  had  told  me — if  he  had 
only  told  me  the  whole  truth — I  loved  him  so  entirely 
that  I  would  have  forgiven — even  that.  But  whenever  I 
alluded  to  it,  he  lied." 

"  He  was  afraid  of  losing  you." 

"  He  has  lost  me  by  his  deceit.  He  would  not  have 
lost  me  if  he  had  told  me  the  truth.  I  think — I  know — 
that  I  could  have  got  over  anything,  forgiven  anything, 
even  his  cowardice,  if  he  had  only  admitted  it  and  been 
straightforward  with  me.  A  little  plain  dealing  was  all  I 
asked,  but — I  did  not  get  it/' 

The  Bishop  looked  sadly  at  her.  Straightforwardness 
is  so  seldom  the  first  requirement  a  woman  makes  of  the 
man  she  loves.  Women,  as  a  rule,  regard  men  and  their 
conduct  only  from  the  point  of  view  of  their  relation  to 
women — as  sons,  as  husbands,  as  fathers.  Yet  Rachel,  it 
seemed,  could  forgive  Hugh's  sin  against  her  as  a  woman, 
but  not  his  further  sin  against  her  as  a  friend, 

353 


RED    POTTAGE 

"Yet  it  seems  he  did  speak  the  truth  at  last,"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"And  after  he  had  destroyed  the  letter,  which  was  the 
only  proof  against  him." 

"  Yes." 

Another  silence. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  thrown  him  over,"  said  the  Bishop, 
slowly,  "for  you  never  loved  him." 

"  I  deceived  myself  in  that  case,"  said  Rachel,  bitterly. 
"My  only  fear  was  that  I  loved  him  too  much." 

The  Bishop's  face  had  become  fixed  and  stern. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Rachel,"  he  said.  "  You  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  an  inferior  man.  He  is  charming,  refined, 
well-bred,  and  with  a  picturesque  mind,  but  that  is  all. 
He  is  inferior.  He  is  by  nature  shallow  and  hard  (the 
two  generally  go  together),  without  moral  backbone,  the 
kind  of  man  who  never  faces  a  difficulty,  who  always 
flinches  when  it  comes  to  the  point,  the  stuff  out  of  which 
liars  and  cowards  are  made.  His  one  redeeming  quality  is 
his  love  for  you.  I  have  seen  men  in  love  before.  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  care  more  for  a  woman  than  he  cares  for 
you.  His  love  for  you  has  taken  entire  possession  of  him, 
and  by  it  he  will  sink  or  swim." 

The  Bishop  paused.     Rachel's  face  worked. 

"  He  deceived  you,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  not  because  he 
wished  to  deceive  you,  but  because  he  was  in  a  horrible 
position,  and  because  his  first  impulse  of  love  was  to  keep 
you  at  any  price.  But  his  love  for  you  was  raising  him 
even  while  he  deceived  you.  Did.  he  spend  sleepless  nights 
because  for  months  he  vilely  deceived  Lord  Newhaven  ? 
No.  Rectitude  was  not  in  him.  His  conscience  was  not 
awake.  But  I  tell  you,  Rachel,  he  has  suffered  like  a  man 
on  the  rack  from  deceiving  you.  I  knew  by  his  face  as 
soon  as  I  saw  him  that  he  was  undergoing  some  great 
mental  strain.  I  did  not  understand  it,  but  I  do  now." 

Rachel's  mind,  always  slow,  moved,  stumbled  to  its 
bleeding  feet. 

"It  was  remorse,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  away. 

356 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  It  was  not  remorse.  It  was  repentance.  Remorse  is 
bitter.  Repentance  is  humble.  His  love  for  yon  has  led 
him  to  it.  Not  your  love  for  him,  Rachel,  which  breaks 
down  at  the  critical  moment ;  his  love  for  you  which  has 
brought  him  for  the  first  time  to  the  perception  of  the 
higher  life,  to  the  need  of  God's  forgiveness,  which  I  know 
from  things  he  has  said,  has  made  him  long  to  lead  a  better 
life,  one  worthier  of  you." 

"  Don't,"  said  Rachel.     "  I  can't  bear  it." 

The  Bishop  rose,  and  stood  facing  her. 

"  And  at  last,"  he  went  on — "at  last,  in  a  moment,  when 
you  showed  your  full  trust  and  confidence  in  him,  he  shook 
off  for  an  instant  the  clogs  of  the  nature  which  he  brought 
into  the  world,  and  rose  to  what  he  had  never  been  before 
— your  equal.  And  his  love  transcended  the  lies  that  love 
itself  on  its  lower  plane  had  prompted.  He  reached  the 
place  where  he  could  no  longer  lie  to  you.  And  then, 
though  his  whole  future  happiness  depended  on  one  more 
lie,  he  spoke  the  truth." 

Rachel  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  what  was 
coming. 

"  And  how  did  you  meet  him  the  first  time  he  spoke  the 
truth  to  you?"  continued  the  Bishop,  inexorably.  "You 
say  you  loved  him,  and  yet — you  spurned  him  from  you, 
you  thrust  him  down  into  hell.  You  stooped  to  him  in 
the  beginning.  He  was  nothing  until  your  fancied  love 
fell  upon  him.  And  then  you  break  him.  It  is  women 
like  you  who  do  more  harm  in  the  world  than  the  bad 
ones.  The  harm  that  poor  fool  Lady  Newhaven  did  him 
is  as  nothing  compared  to  the  harm  you  have  done  him. 
You  were  his  god,  and  you  have  deserted  him.  And  you 
say  you  loved  him.  May  God  preserve  men  from  the  love 
of  women  if  that  is  all  that  a  good  woman's  love  is  capable 
of." 

"I  can  do  nothing,"  said  Rachel,  hoarsely. 

"Do  nothing!"  said  the  Bishop,  fiercely.  "You  can 
do  nothing  when  you  are  responsible  for  a  man's  soul  ! 
God  will  require  his  soul  at  your  hands.  Scarlett  gave  it 

357 


RED    POTTAGE 

into  your  keeping,  and  you  took  it.  You  had  no  business 
to  take  it  if  you  meant  to  throw  it  away.  And  now  you 
say  you  can  do  nothing  !" 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Rachel,  faintly. 

"Forgive  him." 

' '  Forgiveness  won't  help  him.  The  only  forgiveness  he 
would  care  for  is  to  marry  me." 

"  Of  course.     It  is  the  only  way  you  can  forgive  him." 

Rachel  turned  away.  Her  stubborn,  quivering  face 
showed  a  frightful  conflict. 

The  Bishop  watched  her. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  gently,  "  we  all  say  we  follow 
Christ,  but  most  of  us  only  follow  Him  and  His  cross — 
part  of  the  way.  When  we  are  told  that  our  Lord  bore 
our  sins,  and  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  I  sup- 
pose that  meant  that  He  felt  as  if  they  were  His  own  in 
His  great  love  for  us.  But  when  you  shrink  from  bear- 
ing your  fellow-creature's  transgressions,  it  shows  that 
your  love  is  small." 

Rachel  was  silent. 

"  If  you  really  love  him  you  will  forgive- him." 

Rachel  clinched  and  unclinched  her  hands. 

"You  are  appealing  to  a  nobility  and  goodness  which 
are  not  in  me,"  she  said,  stubbornly. 

"  I  appeal  to  nothing  but  your  love.  If  you  really  love 
him  you  will  forgive  him." 

"He  has  broken  my  heart." 

"I  thought  that  was  it.  It  is  yourself  you  are  think- 
ing of.  But  what  is  he  suffering  at  this  moment  ?  You 
do  not  know  or  care.  Where  is  he  now,  that  poor  man 
who  loves  you  ?  Rachel,  if  you  had  ever  known  despair, 
you  would  not  thrust  a  fellow  creature  down  into  it." 

"  I  have  known  it,"  said  Rachel,  hoarsely. 

"  Were  not  you  deserted  once  ?  You  were  deserted  to 
very  little  purpose,  if  after  that  you  can  desert  another. 
Go  back  in  your  mind,  and  —  remember.  Where  you 
stood  once  he  stands  now.  You  and  his  sin  have  put  him 
there.  You  and  his  sin  have  tied  him  to  his  stake.  Will 

358 


RED    POTTAGE 

you  range  yourself  for  ever  on  the  side  of  his  sin  ?     Will 
you  stand  by  and  see  him  perish  ?" 

Silence;  like  the  silence  round  a  death-bed. 

"  He  is  in  a  great  strait.     Only  love  can  save  him/' 

Rachel  flung  out  her  arms  with  an  inarticulate  cry. 

"  I  will  forgive  him,"  she  said.     "  I  will  forgive  him." 


CHAPTER  LII 

"Les  fimes  dont  j'aurai  besoin, 
Et  les  etoiles  soul  trop  loin  ; 
Je  mourrai  dans  un  coin." 

How  Hugh  shook  off  Lady  Newhaven  when  she  followed 
him  out  of  the  Palace  he  did  not  know.  There  had  been 
some  difficulty.  She  had  spoken  to  him,  had  urged  some- 
thing upon  him.  But  he  had  got  rid  of  her  somehow,  and 
had  found  himself  sitting  in  his  bedroom  at  the  South- 
minster  Hotel.  Anything  to  be  alone  !  He  had  felt  that 
was  the  one  thing  in  life  to  attain.  But  now  that  he  was 
alone,  solitude  suddenly  took  monstrous  and  hideous  pro- 
portions, and  became  a  horror  to  flee  from.  He  could  not 
bear  the  face  of  a  fellow-creature.  He  could  not  bear  this 
ghoul  of  solitude.  There  was  no  room  for  him  between 
these  great  millstones.  They  pressed  upon  him  till  he  felt 
they  were  crushing  him  to  death  between  them.  In  vain 
he  endeavored  to  compose  himself,  to  recollect  himself. 
But  exhaustion  gradually  did  for  him  what  he  could  not 
do  for  himself. 

Rachel  had  thrown  him  over.  He  had  always  known 
she  would,  and — she  had. 

They  were  to  have  been  married  in  a  few  weeks ;  three 
weeks  and  one  day.  He  marked  a  day  off  every  morning 
when  he  waked.  He  had  thought  of  her  as  his  wife  till 
the  thought  had  become  part  of  himself.  Its  roots  were 
in  his  inmost  being.  He  tore  it  out  now,  and  looked  at  it 
apart  from  himself,  as  a  man  bleeding  and  shuddering 
looks  upon  a  dismembered  limb. 

The  sweat  broke  from  Hugh's  forehead.     The  waiting 


RED    POTTAGE 

and  daily  parting  had  seemed  unbearable,  that  short  wait- 
ing of  a  few  weeks.  Now  she  would  never  be  his.  That 
long,  ever-growing  hunger  of  the  heart  would  never  be 
appeased.  She  had  taken  herself  away,  taking  away  with 
her  her  dear  hands  and  her  faithful  eyes  and  the  low  voice, 
the  very  sound  of  which  brought  comfort  and  peace. 
They  were  his  hands  and  eyes.  She  had  given  them  to 
him.  And  now  she  had  wrenched  them  away  again,  those 
faithful  eyes  had  seared  him  with  their  scorn,  those  white 
hands,  against  which  he  had  leaned  his  forehead,  had 
thrust  him  violently  from  her.  He  could  not  live  without 
her.  This  was  death,  to  be  parted  from  her. 

"  I  can't,  Rachel,  I  can't,"  said  Hugh,  over  and  over 
again.  >  What  was  any  lesser  death,  compared  to  this,  com- 
pared to  her  contempt  ? 

She  would  never  come  back.  She  despised  him.  She 
would  never  love  him  any  more.  He  had  told  her  that  it 
must  be  a  dream  that  she  could  love  him,  and  that  he 
should  wake.  And  she  had  said  it  was  all  quite  true. 
How  sweetly  she  had  said  it.  But  it  was  a  dream,  after 
all,  and  he  had  waked — in  torment.  Life  as  long  as  he 
lived  would  be  like  this  moment. 

"I  will  not  bear  it,"  he  said,  suddenly,  with  the  frantic 
instinct  of  escape  which  makes  a  man  climb  out  of  a  burn- 
ing house  over  a  window-ledge.  Far  down  is  the  pave- 
ment, quiet,  impassive,  deadly.  Bat  behind  is  the  blast  of 
the  furnace.  Panic  staggers  between  the  two,  and — jumps. 

"I  will  not  bear  it,"  said  Hugh,  tears  of  anguish  welling 
up  into  his  eyes. 

He  had  not  only  lost  her,  but  he  had  lost  himself.  That 
better,  humble,  earnest  self  had  gone  away  with  Rachel, 
and  he  was  thrust  back  on  the  old  false  cowardly  self 
whom,  since  she  had  loved  him,  he  had  abhorred.  He  had 
disowned  it.  He  had  cast  it  off.  Now  it  enveloped  him 
again  like  a  shirt  of  fire,  and  a  voice  within  him  said, 
"  This  is  the  real  you.  You  deceived  yourself  for  a  mo- 
ment. But  this  is  the  real  you — the  liar,  the  coward,  the 
traitor, who  will  live  with  you  again  forever." 

361 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  I  am  forsaken/'  said  Hugh.  He  repeated  the  words 
over  and  over  again.  "  Forsaken !  Forsaken !"  And  he 
looked  round  for  a  way  of  escape. 

Somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  mind  a  picture  hung 
which  he  had  seen  once  and  never  looked  at  again.  He 
turned  and  looked  at  it  now,  as  a  man  turns  and  looks  at 
a  picture  on  the  wall  behind  him. 

He  saw  it  again,  the  still  upturned  face  of  the  little 
lake  among  its  encircling  trees,  as  he  had  seen  it  that  day 
when  he  and  Doll  came  suddenly  upon  it  in  the  woods. 
What  had  it  to  do  with  him?  He  had  escaped  from  it 
once.  He  understood  now. 

Who,  that  has  once  seen  it,  has  ever  forgotten  it,  the 
look  that  deep  water  takes  when  life  is  unbearable ! 
"  Come  down  to  me  among  my  tall  water-plants/'  it  says. 
"  I  am  a  refuge,  a  way  of  escape.  This  horror  and  night- 
mare of  life  cannot  reach  you  in  my  bosom.  Come  down 
to  me.  I  promise  nothing  but  to  lay  my  cool  hand  upon 
the  fire  in  your  brain,  and  that  the  world  shall  release 
its  clutch  upon  you,  the  world  which  promises,  and  will 
not  keep  its  promises.  I  will  keep  mine." 

Hugh's  rnind  wavered,  as  the  flame  of  a  candle  wavers 
in  a  sudden  draught.  So  had  it  wavered  once  in  the  fear 
of  death,  and  he  had  yielded  to  that  fear.  So  it  wavered 
now  in  a  greater  fear,  the  fear  of  life,  and  he  yielded  to 
that  fear. 

He  caught  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

It  was  dark,  and  he  hit  against  the  people  in  the  feebly 
lighted  streets  as  he  hurried  past.  How  hot  it  was !  How 
absurd  to  see  those  gathered  heaps  of  snow,  and  the  muf- 
fled figures  of  men  and  women. 

Presently  he  had  left  the  town,  and  was  in  the  open 
country.  Where  was  he  going  along  this  interminable 
road  in  this  dim  snow  light  ? 

The  night  was  very  still.  The  spirit  of  the  frost  stooped 
over  the  white  face  of  the  earth.  The  long  homely  lines 
of  meadow  and  wold  and  hedgerow  showed  like  the  aus- 
tere folds  of  a  shroud. 

362 


RED    POTTAGE 

Hugh  walked  swiftly,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left. 
The  fire  in  his  brain  mounted,  mounted.  The  moon,  en- 
tangled in  a  dim  thicket,  got  up  behind  him. 

At  last  he  stopped  short.  That  farm  on  the  right!  He 
had  seen  it  before.  Yes.  That  was  Greenfields.  Doll  had 
pointed  it  out  to  him  when  they  had  walked  on  that  Sun- 
day afternoon  to  Beaumere.  They  had  left  the  road  here, 
and  had  taken  to  the  fields.  There  was  the  gate.  Hugh 
opened  it.  Crack  had  been  lost  here  and  had  rejoined 
them  in  the  wood.  The  field  was  empty.  A  path  like  a 
crease  ran  across  it. 

He  knew  the  way.  It  was  the  only  way  of  escape  from 
this  shadow  in  front  of  him,  this  other  self  who  had  come 
back  to  him,  and  torn  Rachel  from  him,  and  made  her 
hate  him.  She  loved  him  really.  She  was  faithful.  She 
would  never  have  forsaken  him.  But  she  had  mistaken 
this  evil  creeping  shadow  for  him,  and  he  had  not  been 
able  to  explain.  But  she  would  understand  presently. 
He  would  make  it  all  very  clear  and  plain,  and  she  would 
love  him  again,  when  he  had  got  rid  of  this  other  Hugh. 
He  would  take  him  down  and  drown  him  in  Beaumere. 
It  was  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of  him.  And  he,  the  real 
Hugh,  would  get  safely  through.  He.had  done  it  once, 
and  he  knew.  He  should  stifle  and  struggle  for  a  little 
while.  There  was  a  turn  exceeding  sharp  to  be  passed, 
but  he  should  reach  that  place  of  peace  beyond,  as  he 
had  done  before,  and  find  Rachel  waiting  for  him,  her 
arms  round  him  again. 

"  It  is  the  only  way/'  he  said,  over  and  over  again,  (C  the 
only  way." 

He  reached  the  wood.  The  moon  was  up  now,  and  smote 
white  and  sharp  down  the  long  winding  aisle  of  the  ca- 
thedral, which  God  builds  Him  in  every  forest  glade,  where 
the  hoar-frost  and  the  snow  held  now  their  solemn  service 
of  praise. 

Hugh  saw  the  little  light  of  the  keeper's  cottage,  and 
instinctively  edged  his  way  to  the  left.  He  was  pressed 
for  time.  A  wheel  was  turning  in  his  head,  so  quickly, 


RED    POTTAGE 

so  quickly  in  this  great  heat  that,  unless  he  were  quicker 
than  it,  it  would  out-distance  him  altogether. 

At  last  he  saw  the  water,  and  ran  down  swiftly  towards 
it.  The  white  tree-trunks  were  in  league  against  him, 
and  waylaid  him,  striking  him  violently.  But  he  struck 
back,  and  got  through  them.  They  fell  behind  at  last. 
His  shadow  was  beside  him  now,  short  and  nimble.  He 
looked  round  once  or  twice  to  make  sure  it  was  still  with 
him. 

He  reached  the  water's  edge  and  then  stopped  short, 
aghast.  Where  was  the  water  gone  ?  It  had  deceived  him 
and  deserted  him,  like  everything  else.  It  was  all  hard  as 
iron,  one  great  white  sheet  of  ice  stretching  away  in  front 
of  him.  He  had  thought  of  the  little  lake  as  he  had  last 
seen  it,  cool  and  deep,  and  with  the  shadows  of  the  sum- 
mer trees  in  it.  It  was  all  changed  and  gone.  There 
was  no  help  here.  The  way  of  escape  was  closed.  With 
a  hoarse  cry  he  set  off,  running  across  the  ice  in  the 
direction  of  the  place  where  he  had  been  nearly  drowned 
before. 

It  was  here,  opposite  that  clump  of  silver  birch.  The 
ice  was  a  different  color  here.  It  tilted  and  creaked  sud- 
denly beneath  his»feet.  He  flung  himself  down  upon  it 
and  struck  it  wildly  with  his  fist.  "  Let  me  through," 
he  stammered.  But  the  ice  resisted  him.  It  made  an 
ominous  dry  crackling,  as  if  in  mockery.  It  barely  resist- 
ed him,  but  it  did  resist  him.  And  he  had  no  time, 
no  time.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet  again,  and  it  gave  way 
instantly.  The  other  self  pounced  suddenly  upon  him 
and  came  through  with  him,  and  they  struggled  furiously 
together  in  deep  water. 

"  I  must,  I  must,"  gasped  Hugh,  between  his  clinched 
teeth. 

"  You  shall  not,"  said  the  other  self,  mad  with  terror. 
"Hold  on  to  the  ice." 

Hugh  saw  his  bleeding  hands  holding  tightly  to  the 
jagged  edge.  It  broke.  He  clutched  another  piece.  It 
broke  again.  The  current  was  sucking  him  slowly  under 

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the  ice.  The  broken  pieces  pushed  him.  One  arm  was 
under  already,  and  he  could  not  get  it  out.  The  animal 
horror  of  a  trap  seized  him.  He  had  not  known  it  would 
be  like  this.  He  was  not  prepared  for  this. 

The  other  self  fought  furiously  for  life,  clutching  and 
tearing  at  the  breaking  ice., 

"  Call,"  it  said  to  him,  "  while  there  is  still  time." 

Hugh  set  his  teeth. 

The  ice  broke  in  a  great  piece  and  tilted  heavily  against 
him.  It  was  over  one  shoulder. 

"Call,"  said  the  other  self,  sharply,  again,  "or  you  will 
be  under  the  ice." 

And  up  to  the  quiet  heaven  rose  once  and  again  a  hoarse, 
wild  cry  of  human  agony  and  despair. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 

1st  Ruh; 
In  alien  Wipfeln 

S purest  Du 
Kaum  einen  Hauch; 
Die  Vogelein  schweigen  im  Walde. 
Warte  nur,  balde 
Ruhest  Du  auch. 

— GOETHE. 

THE  doctor  was  very  late.     Rachel,  who  was  going  to 

the  Watch  Service,  waited  for  the  Bishop  in  the  hall  till 

he  came  out  of  his  study  with  the  curate,  who  had  doubts. 

When  the  young  man  had  left,  Rachel  said,  hesitating: 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  the  service  if  Dr.  Brown  does  not 

arrive  before  then.     Hugh  was  to  have  come  with  us.     I 

don't  want  him  to  go  all  through  the  night  thinking — 

perhaps  if  I  am  prevented  going  you  will  see  him,  and 

speak  a  word  to  him." 

"  My  dear/'  said  the  Bishop,   "  I  went  across  to  his 
rooms  two  hours  ago,  directly  you  went  up  to  Hester." 

He  loved  Rachel,  but  he  wondered  at  her  lack  of  imagi- 
nation. 

"  Two  hours  ago  !    And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 
"  I  did  not  see  him.     I  was  too  late.     He  was  gone." 
"  Gone  I"  said  Rachel,  faintly.     "  Where  ?" 
"  I  do  not  know.     I  went  up  to  his  rooms.     All  his 
things  were  still  there." 
"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 
"I  do  not  know." 

The  Bishop  looked  at  her  compassionately.     She  had 
been  a  long  time  forgiving  him.     While  she  hesitated  he 

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RED    POTTAGE 

had  said  to  her,  "  Where  is  he  now  ?"  and  she  had  not 
understood. 

Her  face  became  pinched  and  livid.  She  understood 
now,  after  the  event. 

"  I  am  frightened  for  him,"  she  said. 

The  Bishop  had  been  alarmed  while  she  poured  out  his 
tea  before  they  began  to  talk. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  gone  back  to  London/'  she  said,  her 
eyes  widening  with  a  vague  dread. 

The  Bishop  had  gone  on  to  the  station,  and  had  ascer- 
tained that  Hugh  had  not  left  by  the  one  train  which  had 
stopped  at  Southminster  between  seven  and  nine.  But 
he  did  not  add  to  her  anxiety  by  saying  so. 

The  doctor's  brougham,  coming  at  full  speed,  drew  up 
suddenly  at  the  door. 

"  There  he  is  at  last,"  said  the  Bishop,  and  before  the 
bell  could  be  rung  he  opened  the  door. 

A  figure  was  already  on  the  threshold,  but  it  was  not 
Dr.  Brown.  It  was  Dick. 

"  Where  is  Dr.  Brown  ?"  said  Eachel  and  the  Bishop 
simultaneously,  looking  at  the  doctor's  well-known  brough- 
am and  smoking  horses. 

"  He  asked  me  to  come,"  said  Dick,  measuring  Eachel 
with  his  eye.  Then  he  did  as  he  would  be  done  by,  and 
added,  slowly  :  "He  was  kept.  He  was  on  his  way  here 
from  Wilderleigh,  where  one  of  the  servants  is  ill,  and  as 
I  was  dining  there  he  offered  me  a  lift  back.  And  when 
we  were  passing  that  farm  near  the  wood  a  man  stopped 
us.  He  said  there  had  been  an  accident — some  one  near- 
ly drowned.  I  went,  too.  It  turned  out  to  be  Scarlett. 
Dr.  Brown  remained  with  him,  and  sent  me  to  take  you 
to  him." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  asked  Rachel,  her  eyes  never  leaving 
Dick's  face. 

"No,  but  he  is  very  ill." 

"  I  will  come  now." 

The  chaplain  came  slowly  across  the  hall,  laden  with 
books  and  papers. 

367 


RED    POTTAGE 

"  Let  Canon  Sebright  know  at  once  that  I  cannot  take 
part  in  the  service/'  said  the  Bishop,  sharply  ;  and  he 
hurried  down  the  steps  after  Rachel,  and  got  into  the 
carriage  with  her.  Dick  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  fur 
coat,  and  climbed  up  beside  the  coachman. 

The  carriage  turned  warily,  and  then  set  off  at  a  great 
pace. 

The  cathedral  loomed  up  suddenly,  all  aglow  with  light 
within.  Out  into  the  night  came  the  dirge  of  the  organ 
for  the  dying  year. 

The  Bishop  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  pane.  The  houses 
were  left  behind.  They  were  in  the  country. 

"Who  is  that  ?"  said  Rachel,  suddenly,  as  a  long  shadow 
ran  beside  them  along  the  white  hedgerow. 

"  It  is  only  Dick.  There  is  a  rise  in  the  ground  here, 
and  he  is  running  to  ease  the  horses." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"I  believe  he  did  it  on  purpose,"  said  Rachel,  at  last. 
"I  forsook  him  in  his  great  need,  and  now  he  has  for- 
saken me." 

"He  would  never  forsake  you,  Rachel." 

"Not  knowingly,"  she  said.  "I  did  it  knowing.  That 
is  the  difference  between  him  and  me." 

She  did  not  speak  again. 

For  a  lifetime,  as  it  seemed  to  the  Bishop,  the  carriage 
swayed  from  side  to  side  of  the  white  road.  At  last,  when 
he  had  given  up  all  hope,  it  turned  into  a  field  and  jolted 
heavily  over  the  frozen  ruts.  Then  it  came  to  a  stand- 
still. " 

Rachel  was  out  of  the  carriage  before  Dick  could  get  off 
the  box. 

She  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  and  he  led  the  way 
swiftly  through  the  silent  wood  under  the  moon.  The 
Bishop  followed. 

The  keeper's  cottage  had  a  dim  yellow  glimmer  in  it. 
Man's  little  light  looked  like  a  kind  of  darkness  in  the 
great  white,  all -pervading  splendor  of  the  night.  The 
cottage  door  was  open.  Dr.  Brown  was  looking  out. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

Rachel  went  up  to  him. 

' 'Where  is  he?"  she  said. 

He  tried  to  speak  ;  he  tried  to  hold  her  gently  back 
while  he  explained  something.  But  he  saw  she  was  past 
explanation,  blind  and  deaf  except  for  one  voice,  one  face. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  she  repeated,  shaking  her  head  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Here,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  led  her  through  the 
kitchen.  A  man  and  woman  rose  up  from  the  fireside  as 
she  came  in.  He  opened  the  door  into  the  little  parlor. 

On  the  floor  on  a  mattress  lay  a  tall  figure.  The  head, 
supported  on  a  pillow,  was  turned  towards  the  door,  the 
wide  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  candle  on  the  table.  The 
lips  moved  continually.  The  hands  were  picking  at  the 
blankets. 

For  the  first  moment  Rachel  did  not  know  him.  How 
could  this  be  Hugh  ?  How  could  these  blank,  unrecog- 
nizing  eyes  be  Hugh's  eyes,  which  had  never  until  now 
met  hers  without  love  ? 

But  it  was  he.  Yes,  it  was  he.  She  traced  the  likeness 
as  we  do  in  a  man's  son  to  the  man  himself. 

She  fell  on  her  knees  beside  him  and  took  the  wander- 
ing hands  and  kissed  them. 

He  looked  at  her,  through  her,  with  those  bright,  un- 
seeing eyes,  and  the  burning  hands  escaped  from  hers 
back  to  their  weary  work. 

Dick,  whose  eyes  had  followed  Rachel,  turned  away 
biting  his  lip,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen. 
The  keeper  and  his  wife  had  slipped  away  into  the  little 
scullery. 

The  Bishop  went  up  to  Dick  and  put  his  arm  round  his 
shoulders.  Two  tears  of  pain  were  standing  in  Dick's 
hawk-eyes.  He  had  seen  Rachel  kiss  Hugh's  hands.  He 
ground  his  heel  against  the  brick  floor. 

The  Bishop  understood,  and  understood,  too,  the  sud- 
den revulsion  of  feeling. 

"  Poor  chap  !"  said  Dick,  huskily.     "It's  frightful  hard 
luck  on  him  to  have  to  go  just  when  she  was  to  have  mar- 
2  A  369 


RED    POTTAGE 

ried  him.  If  it  had  been  me  I  could  not  have  borne  it ; 
but  then  I  would  have  taken  care  I  was  not  drowned.  I'd 
have  seen  to  that.  But  it's  frightful  hard  luck  on  him,  all 
the  same." 

"  I  suppose  he  was  taking  a  short  cut  across  the  ice." 

c<  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "and  he  got  in  where  any  one  who 
knew  the  look  of  ice  would  have  known  he  would  be 
sure  to  get  in.  The  keeper  watched  him  cross  the  ice.  It 
was  some  time  before  they  could  get  near  him  to  get  him. 
out,  and  it  seems  there  is  some  injury." 

Dr.  Brown  came  slowly  out,  half  closing  the  parlor  door 
behind  him. 

"I  can  do  nothing  more,"  he  said.  "  If  he  lived  he 
would  have  brain  fever.  But  he  is  dying." 

"  Does  he  know  her  ?" 

"  No.  He  may  know  her  at  the  last,  but  it  is  doubtful. 
I  can  do  nothing,  and  I  am  wanted  elsewhere." 

"  I  will  stop,"  said  the  Bishop. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  back?"  said  Dr.  Brown,  looking  at 
Dick.  But  Dick  shook  his  head. 

"  I  might  be  of  use  to  her,"  he  said,  when  the  doctor 
had  gone. 

So  the  two  men  who  loved  Rachel  sat  in  impotent  com- 
passion in  the  little  kitchen  through  the  interminable 
hours  of  the  night.  At  long  intervals  the  Bishop  went 
quietly  into  the  parlor,  but  apparently  he  was  not  wanted 
there.  Once  he  went  out  and  got  a  fresh  candle,  and  put 
it  into  the  tin  candlestick,  and  set  it  among  the  china  or- 
naments on  wool-work  mats. 

Hugh  lay  quite  still  now  with  his  eyes  half  closed.  His 
hands  lay  passive  in  Rachel's.  The  restless  fever  of  move- 
ment was  passed.  She  almost  wished  it  back,  so  far,  so 
far  was  his  life  ebbing  away  from  hers. 

"  Hughie,"  she  whispered  to  him  over  and  over  again. 
' ( I  love  you.  Do  not  leave  me." 

But  he  muttered  continually  to  himself  and  took  no  heed 
of  her. 

At  last  she  gave  up  the  hopeless  task  of  making  him 

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RED    POTTAGE 

hear,  and  listened  intently.  She  could  make  no  sense  of 
what  he  said.  The  few  words  she  could  catch  were  re- 
peated a  hundred  times  amid  an  unintelligible  murmur. 
The  boat,  and  Loftus,  and  her  own  name  —  and  Crack. 
Who  was  Crack?  She  remembered  the  little  dog  which 
had  been  drowned.  And  the  lips  which  were  so  soon  to 
be  silent  talked  on  incoherently  while  Rachel's  heart  broke 
for  a  word. 

The  night  was  wearing  very  thin.  The  darkness  before 
the  dawn,  the  deathly  chill  before  the  dawn  were  here. 
Through  the  low  uncurtained  window  Rachel  could  see 
the  first  wan  light  of  the  new  day  and  the  new  year. 

Perhaps  he  would  know  her  with  the  daylight. 

The  new  day  came  up  out  of  the  white  east  in  a  great 
peace,  pale  as  Christ  newly  risen  from  the  dead,  with  the 
splendor  of  God's  love  upon  Him. 

A  great  peace  and  light  stole  together  into  the  little 
room. 

Hugh  stirred,  and  Rachel  saw  a  change  pass  over  his 
pinched,  sunken  face. 

"  It  was  the  only  way  to  reach  her/'  he  said,  slowly  and 
distinctly;  "the  only  way.  I  shall  get  through,  and  I 
shall  find  her  upon  the  other  side,  as  I  did  before.  It  is 
very  cold,  but  I  shall  get  through.  I  am  nearly  through 
now." 

He  sat  up,  and  looked  directly  at  her.  He  seemed  sud- 
denly freed,  released.  A  boyish  look  that  she  had  never 
seen  came  into  his  face,  a  look  which  remained  in  Rachel's 
heart  while  she  lived. 

Would  he  know  her? 

The  pure  light  was  upon  his  face,  more  beautiful  than 
she  had  ever  seen  it.  He  looked  at  her  with  tender  love 
and  trust  shining  in  his  eyes,  and  laughed  softly. 

et  I  have  found  you,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his  arms 
towards  her.  "  I  lost  you,  I  don't  remember  how,  but  I 
came  to  you  through  the  water.  I  knew  I  should  find 
you,  my  Rachel,  my  sweet  wife." 

He  was  past  the  place  of  our  poor  human  forgiveness. 

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RED    POTTAGE 

He  might  have  cared  for  it  earlier,  but  he  did  not  want  it 
now.  He  had  forgotten  that  he  had  any  need  of  it,  for 
the  former  things  had  passed  away.  Love  only  remained. 

She  took  him  in  her  arms.     She  held  him  to  her  heart. 

"I  knew  you  would/'  he  said,  smiling  at  her.  "I 
knew  it.  We  will  never  part  again." 

And  with  a  sigh  of  perfect  happiness  he  turned  wholly 
to  her,  his  closed  eyes  against  her  breast. 


CONCLUSION 

IT  was  autumn  once  more.  The  brambles  were  red  in 
the  hollow  below  Warpington  Vicarage.  Abel  was  gath- 
ering the  apples  in  the  orchard. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gusley  were  sitting  together  in  the  shade 
of  the  new  porch,  contemplating  a  triumphal  arch  which 
they  had  just  erected  across  the  road.  "Long  life  and 
happiness  "  was  the  original  motto  inscribed  thereon. 

Mrs.  Gusley,  in  an  alarming  new  hat,  sank  back  ex- 
hausted in  her  garden-chair. 

"  The  Pratts  are  having  six  arches,  all  done  with  elec- 
tric-light designs  of  hearts  with  their  crest  on  the  top," 
she  said.  "  They  are  to  be  lit  up  at  nine  o'clock.  Mr. 
Pratt  said  he  did  not  mind  any  expense  on  such  an  occa- 
sion. He  said  it  made  an  epoch  in  the  life  of  the  county." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Gusley,  "  I  lead  too  busy  a  life  to  be 
always  poking  my  nose  into  other  people's  affairs,  but  I 
certainly  never  did  expect  that  Lady  Newhaven  would 
have  married  Algy  Pratt." 

"Ada  and  Selina  say  Algy  and  she  have  been  attached 
for  years  :  that  is  why  the  wedding  is  so  soon — only  nine 
months — and  she  is  to  keep  her  title,  and  they  are  going 
bo  live  at  Westhope.  I  told  Ada  and  Selina  I  hoped  they 
did  not  expect  too  much  from  the  marriage,  for  some- 
times people  who  did  were  disappointed,  but  they  only 
laughed  and  said  Vi  had  promised  Algy  to  take  them  out 
next  season." 

"  We  seem  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  weddings/'  said 
Mr.  Gusley.  "First,  Dr.  Brown  and  Fraulein,  and  now 
Algy  Pratt  and  Lady  Newhaven." 

"  I  was  so  dreadfully  afraid  that  Fraulein  might  think 

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RED    POTTAGE 

our  arch  was  put  up  for  her,  and  presume  upon  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Gusley,  "  that  I  thought  it  better  to  send  her  a  little 
note,  just  to  welcome  her  cordially,  and  tell  her  how  busy 
we  were  about  the  Pratt  festivities,  and  what  a  coincidence 
it  was  her  arriving  on  the  same  day.  I  told  her  I  would 
send  down  the  children  to  spend  the  morning  with  her  to- 
morrow. I  knew  that  would  please  her,  and  it  is  Miss 
Baker's  day  in  Southminster  with  her  aunt,  and  I  shall 
really  be  too  busy  to  see  after  them.  In  some  ways  I  don't 
like  Miss  Baker  as  much  as  Fraulein.  She  is  paid  just  the 
same,  but  she  does  much  less,  and  she  is  really  quite  short 
sometimes  if  I  ask  her  to  do  any  little  thing  for  me,  like 
copying  out  that  church  music." 

"  Hester  used  to  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Gusley. 

"  Miss  Brown  told  me  she  had  heard  from  Hester,  and 
that  she  and  Miss  West  are  still  in  India.  And  they  mean 
to  go  to  Australia  and  New  Zealand,  and  come  home  next 
spring." 

"Was  Hester  well?" 

"  Quite  well.  You  know,  James,  I  always  told  you  that 
hers  was  not  a  genuine  illness.  That  was  why  they  would 
not  let  us  see  her.  It  was  only  hysteria,  which  girls  get 
when  they  are  disappointed  at  not  marrying,  and  are  not 
so  young  as  they  were.  Directly  poor  Mr.  Scarlett  died, 
Hester  left  her  room,  and  devoted  herself  to  Miss  West, 
and  Dr.  Brown  said  it  was  the  saving  of  her.  But  for  my 
part  I  always  thought  Hester  took  in  Dr.  Brown  and  the 
Bishop  about  that  illness." 

"I  should  not  wonder  if  Hester  married  Dick  Vernon," 
said  Mr.  Gusley.  "  It  is  rather  marked,  their  going  to 
Australia  when  he  went  back  there  only  a  few  months  ago. 
If  she  had  consulted  me  I  should  have  advised  her  not  to 
follow  him  up." 

A  burst  of  cheering,  echoed  by  piercing  howls  from  Bou- 
lou  locked  up  in  the  empty  nursery. 

"I hope  Miss  Baker  has  put  the  children  in  a  good  place. 
She  is  sure  to  be  in  a  good  one  herself,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley, 
as  she  and  her  husband  took  up  their  position  by  the  gate. 

374 


RED    POTTAGE 

More  cheering  !  A  sudden  flourish  of  trumpets  and  a 
trombone  from  the  volunteer  band  at  the  corner,  of  which 
Mr.  Pratt  was  colonel. 

A  clatter  of  four  white  horses  and  an  open  carriage.  A 
fleeting  vision  of  Captain  Pratt,  white  waistcoat,  smile, 
teeth,  eye-glass,  hat  waved  in  lavender  -  kid  hand  !  A 
fleeting  vision  of  a  lovely  woman  in  white,  with  a  wonder- 
ful white-feathered  hat,  and  a  large  diamond  heart,  pos- 
sibly a  love  token  from  Captain  Pratt,  hanging  on  a  long 
diamond  chain,  bowing  and  smiling  beside  her  elaborate 
bridegroom. 

In  a  moment  they  were  passed,  and  a  report  of  cannon 
and  field-artillery  showed  that  the  east  lodge  of  Warping- 
ton  Towers  had  been  reached,  and  the  solemn  joy  of  the 
Pratts  was  finding  adequate  expression. 

"She  looked  rather  frightened,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley. 

"  Such  a  magnificent  reception  is  alarming  to  a  gentle, 
retiring  nature,"  said  Mr.  Gusley. 

More  cheering !  this  time  much  more  enthusiastic  than 
the  last — louder,  deafening. 

Dr.  Brown's  dog-cart  came  slowly  in  sight,  accompanied 
by  a  crowd. 

"  They  have  taken  out  the  horse  and  are  dragging  them 
up,"  said  Mrs.  Gusley,  in  astonishment.  "  Look  at  Dr. 
Brown  waving  his  hat,  and  Fraulein  bowing  in  that  silly 
way.  Well,  I  only  hope  her  head  won't  be  turned  by  the 
arches  and  everything.  She  will  find  my  note  directly  she 
gets  in.  Really,  James  !  two  brides  and  bridegrooms  in 
one  day  !  It  is  like  the  end  of  a  novel." 


POSTSCRIPT 

WE  turn  the  pages  of  the  Book  of  Life  with  impatient 
hands.  And  if  we  shut  up  the  book  at  a  sad  page  we  say, 
hastily,  "Life  is  sad."  But  it  is  not  so.  There  are  other 
pages  waiting  to  be  turned.  I,  who  have  copied  out  one 
little  chapter  of  the  lives  of  Rachel  and  Hester,  cannot  see 
plainly,  but  I  catch  glimpses  of  those  other  pages.  I  seem 
to  see  Rachel  with  children  round  her,  and  Dick  not  far 
off,  and  the  old  light  rekindled  in  Hester's  eyes.  For 
Hope  and  Love  and  Enthusiasm  never  die.  We  think  in 
youth  that  we  bury  them  in  the  graveyards  of  our  hearts, 
but  the  grass  never  yet  grew  over  them.  How,  then,  can 
life  be  sad,  when  they  walk  beside  us  always  in  the  grow- 
ing light  towards  the  Perfect  Day. 


BY  A.  CONAN   DOYLE 


THE  REFUGEES.  A  Tale  of  Two  Continents.  Illus- 
trated. Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  75. 

THE  WHITE  COMPANY.  Illustrated.  Post  8vo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  75. 

MICAH  CLARKE.  Illustrated.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental, $1  75  ;  8vo,  Paper,  45  cents. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES. 
Illustrated.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

CONTENTS:  A  Scandal  in  Bohemia,  The  Red -headed  League, 
A  Case  of  Identity,  The  Boscombe  Valley  Mystery,  The  Five 
Orange  Pips,  The  Man  with  the  Twisted  Lip,  The  Blue  Carbun- 
cle, The  Speckled  Band,  The  Engineer's  Thumb,  The  Noble 
Bachelor,  The  Beryl  Coronet,  The  Copper  Beeches. 

MEMOIRS  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES.  Illustrated. 
Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

CONTENTS  :  Silver  Blaze,  The  Yellow  Face,  The  Stock-Broker's 
Clerk,  The  "  Gloria  Scott,"  The  Musgrave  Ritual,  The  Reigate 
Puzzle,  The  Crooked  Man,  The  Resident  Patient,  The  Greek  In- 
terpreter, The  Navy  Treaty,  The  Final  Problem. 

THE  PARASITE.  A  Story.  Illustrated.  Post  8vo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 

THE  GREAT  SHADOW.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornament- 
al, $1  00. 

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the  price. 


BY  THOMAS  HAEDY 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 
Two  ON  A  TOWER. 
THE  WOODLANDERS. 
FAR   FROM   THE    MADDING 

CROWD. 

WESSEX  TALES. 
A  LAODICEAN. 
TESS    OF     THE    D'URBER- 

VILLES. 


JUDE  THE  OBSCURE. 

THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA. 

A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES. 

THE  MAYOR  OF  CASTER- 
BRIDGE. 

THE  TRUMPET-MAJOR. 

UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD 
TREE. 

RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE. 


THE  WELL-BELOVED. 
Uniform  Edition.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 

$1  50  per  volume. 
WESSEX  POEMS,  and  Other  Verses.     Illustrated  by  the 

Author.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

LIFE'S  LITTLE  IRONIES.     Tales.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental, $1  25. 
A  GROUP  OF  NOBLE  DAMES.    Illustrated.    12mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1  25. 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.     32mo,  Cloth,  35  cents. 

Hardy  has  an  exquisite  vein  of  humor.  ...  He  has  a  reserve 
force,  so  to  speak,  of  imagination,  of  invention,  which  keeps  the 
interest  undiminished  always,  though  the  personages  in  the  drama 
may  be  few  and  their  adventures  unremarkable.  But  most  of  Kl 
he  has  shown  the  pity  and  the  beauty  of  human  life,  most  of  all  he 
has  enlarged  the  boundaries  of  sympathy  and  charity. — New  York 
Tribune. 


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BY   SIR  WALTER   BESANT 


IN  DEACON'S  ORDERS,  and  Other  Stories.    12mo,  Cloth,  Or- 

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8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  Illustrated.  12mo, 

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cents. 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.     Illustrated.    870,  Cloth,  $2  50. 
IIERR  PAULUS.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 
FOR  FAITH   AND    FREEDOM.      Illustrated.      12mo,  Cloth, 

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LONDON.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $3  00. 
ST.  KATHARINE'S  BY  THE   TOWER.     Illustrated.     12mo, 

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THE  BELL  OF  ST.  PAUL'S.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 
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price. 


BY   HENRY  JAMES 


THE  AWKWARD  AGE.     A  Novel.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna 
mental,  $1  50. 

DAISY    MILLER,  and    AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE. 

Illustrated   from  Drawings  by   HARRY  W.   McViCKAR.     8vo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $3  50.     Edition 

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ESSAYS  IN  LONDON  AND  ELSEWHERE.    Post  8vo,  Cloth, 

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TERMINATIONS.     Four   Stories:    "The  Death  of  the  Lion," 

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Dead."     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 
DIARY   OF   A  MAN   OF  FIFTY. —A   BUNDLE  OF  LET- 
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NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE   (1804-1864).     12mo,  Cloth,   75 

cents  ;  16mo,  Paper,  20  cents. 
THE   PRIVATE   LIFE.     Three  Stores:    "  The  Private  Life." 

"Lord   Beaupre,"  "The  Visits."      16mo,   Cloth,  Ornamental, 

$1  00. 
THE    WHEEL    OF   TIME.      Three  Stories:    "The  Wheel  of 

Time,"   "Collaboration,"   "Owen    Wingrave."      16mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1  00. 
PICTURE   AND   TEXT.       With    Portraits    and    Illustrations. 

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WASHINGTON  SQUARE.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  GEORGE 

DU  MAURIER.     16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25  ;  8vo,  Paper, 

50  cents. 
THEATRICALS.      First    series:    "Tenants"  —  "  Disengaged." 

Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

THEATRICALS.     Second  series :  ' '  The  Album  "— ' '  The  Repro- 
bate."   Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 


HARPER    &   BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

Any  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to 
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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


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WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
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OVERDUE. 


NOVg 


8  1934 


JUL  211991 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


- 


839598 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


